Onwards Till Dawn
by XxZuiliu
Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except– ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC, AU]
1. 1: 01 Wake Up

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC]

Warnings: Some angst, descriptions of violence. (More to be added if they come up later in the story…)

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

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* * *

 _Once upon a time, there is a war. A_ _war so vicious and brutal that it spills from one world to the next, as the skies tremble and the seas shake, and the ground runs red with blood. This war is the very essence of hell, an amalgamation of cruelty and ruthlessness and the desperate will to survive, and all that trails in its wake is death and despair._

 _Death and despair._

 _Fire and hatred._

 _This is a war that knows no end, has yet to end, and will only end when it comes time for the innumerable stars to fall from grace and for the earth to wither, when the world becomes wholly and completely devoid of life. It will only end in destruction and ruin, when salvation becomes naught but a distant hope that stands no chance of ever becoming anything more than an illusion, delusion. A hope that only exists to burn and scatter in a thousand pieces to the agonizing scorch of heartless flames._

 _(This is a war that will only rest upon the dawning of the end of the world.)_

* * *

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* * *

 **Onwards Till Dawn**

 _01: "From the Night"_

* * *

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* * *

Total darkness.

Heartbeat.

 _Breathe._

…

It takes a moment of just lying there, of just staring up at the dark ceiling and remembering to _breathe._ The silence of the room is deafening, only broken by sharp intersperses of heavy panting, but I am barely aware of my own mouth being open until I feel the choking dryness strangling the back of my throat. There is a dull pounding in my ears, the pounding of a rapid heartbeat that threatens to drown out it all.

Several long minutes pass before I finally manage to gather my wits about me, enough to sit up in bed. The upward motions are shaky, unsteady, and I find myself spending another good moment of just sitting there, of just trying to control my limbs to stop trembling, stop shivering, and it's an exercise in futility.

It's pathetic, but I can't _stop_.

"It's not real. Nothing has happened yet. Nothing will happen. _It won't happen again, I won't let it happen again, not again, not again._ " There is a frenzied edge to the desperate mantra that I find myself repeating over and over senselessly, as I wrap my arms around my trembling frame and draw up my legs, curling up and hiding my face in my knees.

It's just a dream, an illusion.

(A nightmare, a memory.)

…

I exhale lightly and open my eyes again.

 _2:32 AM._

It's dark. The entire room is drenched in pitch-black darkness, save for the eerie blue light creeping in from the cracked corners of the aged windows and creaking door frame. But other than that, the room is entirely dark, and… there's a certain comfort in being in the dark.

(Of being hidden away from sight, away from any scrutiny –and even though this sounds so very much like just giving up and running away, I know for a fact that I've stopped running a long time ago. These nightmares aren't something I can just run away from, or convince myself to be delusions, because they _are_ my reality.)

 _Blood._

 _Fire._

 _Steel on steel, and another scream tears through the air._

" _Run away!"_

 _A sickening crunch, the sound of snapping bones, and. And there, standing in the midst of it all, is a monster that laughs and laughs at the explosion of flesh and blood, laughs delightedly without pause._

 _I can't move, my feet are frozen, my heart is screaming in pain, and the monster just turns to me and smiles._

" _Run away? Run where?" says the devil in human guise, wicked grin spreading wide as blood drip-drip-drips from his fingertips. "There's nowhere for you to run. No matter how many times you try, all that awaits you… is death."_

 _The monster then turns and sets his sights on_ him, _on the blood-soaked man whose heart is wider than the sky, and–_

 _There is the flash of a clawed hand, and it's so close. So_ close. _All it would take is three steps to move to his side, to block the blow, to redirect and prevent it from tearing into his chest and… and…_

 _A scream._

 _(My voice.)_

 _Blood._

 _(Not mine. His blood._ His _blood. I can't I can't–)_

 _Blood drips all over his torso, mutilated flesh and the edge of bone being visible in the open air –but he is still standing tall just like he always has, just like he always would, every single time again and again and there is fire burning in his eyes. He stands no chance against the monster, he is on the brink of death, and…_

 _And there is absolutely nothing I can do._

 _No matter how hard I try, my limbs won't move themselves a single bit, so I can only look on helplessly, unable to change anything, anything at all._

" _Go," he whispers to me, right before the monster descends upon us all, wreathed in hellish flames and–_

* * *

Water.

The shock of icy water against my skin sends an electrifying jolt of shivers wracking up throughout my body, and it's not until I begin coming to my senses again that I realize I've bitten through my lip somewhere along the way from my bed to the bathroom. Blood is a familiar taste on my tongue, and the stinging pain on my bottom lip is only another stark reminder. A reminder to breathe, to ground myself to reality instead of becoming lost to my memories again –the memories that are the hellish horrors and torments dwelling within my mind.

(Memories of failure, again and again and again. Rinse and repeat.)

I stand there limply under the thunderous force of the icy shower for several long minutes, slowly and carefully emptying out my mind, clearing it of all scattered, incoherent thoughts before reconstructing myself in such a manner as to become functional again. These terrifying nightmares, memories, are overwhelming –but there is a difference between simply remembering and being consumed by these memories, and even though I tread the line of the latter more than the former, there is no way to forget something like this.

I will never forget it.

Blood and pain, carved into my very soul.

(And through the haze of it all, the faintest light of hope.)

"I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely to the darkness where there is no response, and the icy water driving needles into my body is not enough to numb the pain that comes with these words. "I'm sorry I let you all die again. Even though I've lived through this so many times before, even though I know what awaits us all… I promise, I promise I'll do better this time around. _I promise._ "

Nonsensical words that no one would understand, but to me these words are more than just a simple promise or anything of the kind. This is an admission of guilt, of self-recrimination, of helplessness. But more than that, this is also the resolve to forge onwards through the pain, because the alternative of just _giving up_ does not bear thinking about.

* * *

 _Do you remember?_

 _Do you remember the first time we met each other? You were a shy, stuttering, nervous wreck –but you were also caring, kind, accepting, and being with you, being part of your family–_

 _Oh gods, you have no idea how much I want those carefree days back again. How long has it been?_

 _How long has it been since the first time we died?_

 _I… I'm sorry._

 _Even though I have the chance to change things here, even though my death is always only a new beginning, of waking up in the past and having the chance to make sure things turn out differently, an opportunity to make sure no one dies and we can all live on happily–_

 _I'm sorry._

 _I'm sorry I'm never strong enough to protect anyone._

 _(But I promise, I promise, I promise I swear I will never stop trying.)_

* * *

The water from the shower is still sharp and cold, but my skin is already numb by this point.

In the end, it is not the frigid temperature of the water but the sound of a shrill ringtone blasting through my cramped apartment that draws me out of the stupor I have fallen into. I blink dazedly as the bell-like rings of an incoming call resound again and again in the darkness.

Then ensues a brief moment of internal debate as to whether or not to pick up the call at all.

… I _want_ my cold shower while I drown in misery and depression, damn it. Who even goes around calling people at such an ungodly hour, anyways?

With an explosive exhale, I finally push myself off of where my arms have been pressing up against the walls of the shower, turning off the water before stepping out of the bathroom altogether. I don't bother doing anything more than wrapping a thin towel around my torso before I fumble my way into the living room, snatch the phone off the table, and spin sharply on my heel, tipping backwards to flop down gracelessly into the only armchair in the room.

Fake leather coverings, but I've never been particularly picky about the quality of my furniture, and it's waterproof. That's good enough for me.

I raise the phone to my ear.

"If this is an advertisement or some random bullshit," my voice is silky and pleasant and decidedly dark, "I _swear to god_ I'll track you down wherever you live, cut off your fingers, and _stuff them down your throat."_

Usually, I'd be much more polite and just mutter out a quiet, 'Hello, who is this?' or something to that effect in a situation like this. But with the nightmare I had just woken up from and the tension still coiled in my veins, lurking beneath my skin like a poisonous serpent ready to lash out at the slightest sign of provocation…

Quite understandably, I find myself more inclined to be in much less of a forgiving mood.

" _Um… I apologize for calling at such a late… early…?–"_

That voice.

"… Basil?" I frown, irritation vanishing in a heartbeat.

Basil. Member of CEDEF, Vongola affiliation.

Officially, we had encountered each other earlier last year in that 'sporting tournament,' but while I was reasonably certain that Basil did indeed regard me as somewhat of a friendly acquaintance in our relationship by this point, I was also equally certain that it would take a few closer steps of familiarity on Basil's part for him to feel comfortable calling me at such an ungodly hour.

(Unofficially, even though he himself still has yet to be aware of it, he is part of my _family,_ the family I would go to hell and back for, the family that I _am_ going to hell and back for, even if none of them know, none of them remember.

… Even though I have the chance to defy fate and change things for the better, I'm always failing, failing, _failing I am such a failure but I promise I promise I will change things, I will–_ )

" _I'm really sorry for disturbing you!"_ There is a hint of fluster and embarrassment in Basil's voice, but it's easy enough for me to pick up on the faint undercurrent of _tiredness_ lying beneath it all.

My lips twitch into a small frown again, invisible in the dark.

" _It's a business call this time, so… um. There's a job we need done, and… and from the list of candidates we came up with, you're one of the people suitable for the job, so I'm calling to offer you a contract."_

"… And I'm guessing that it's urgent, which is why you're calling me on short notice at such an ungodly hour?"

" _I'm sorry!"_

I laugh humorlessly.

"So, what do you need an assassin for, Basil?" I shake my head and lean back in my armchair, fluidly crossing one leg over another. The towel around my body slips a little, but I don't bother doing anything about it. "Doesn't Vongola have its own assassination squad? People might start thinking things if it slips out that Vongola doesn't even use their own assassins, y'know."

" _We're looking for a third party who's not associated with Vongola."_

My body stills.

Because…

What are the implications of an organization like CEDEF seeking out an assassin who is completely unassociated with them? Anonymous hits –but contracts like those generally require trust between the employer and the employee, both for the assassin in question to carry out the job and for the person hiring said assassin to actually be giving the assassin a job instead of trapping them into a suicide mission.

(It's not that Basil is untrustworthy. It's just that even though I consider him family, right now it is only a one-sided sentiment on my part. In my eyes, he is a comrade, a friend, a brother, _family_ who I have watched die countless times in countless ways, unable to protect and save, while for him…

I am only an acquaintance in his network of contacts.

An assassin, a killer for hire.

… No one else understands, no one else knows, no one else _remembers,_ and–

And while it's terribly, terribly lonely at times, maybe it's for the best, in the end, even if that makes it a pain in the ass to build trust from the beginning all over again, because… because why can't any of you _see?_

Why can't you see that I would never, never hurt any of you?)

…

"Hey, Basil," I say blandly, finger coming up to curl around a lock of limp, wet hair. "Did I ever mention to you that I'd really appreciate having the chance to grow old and die at a ripe old age?"

" _It's not like that! It's not… it's not what you think it is…"_ Basil's voice falters for a moment over the phone, and I remain silent as he gathers his words. The vehement denial doesn't sound fake, but there seems to be something suspicious about the situation at large –my reservations are not without reason. _"We're just… I'm sorry, I can't give you the full details if you don't accept the contract, but… I can tell you it's a protection detail, not an assassination."_

… An anonymous third party for a protection detail backed by Vongola?

(If this is what I think it is–)

"Well, I can tell you straight up that I'm certainly not going to accept anything if I don't even have any details about the job you're asking me to take on," I respond, careful to keep my voice short and dry. Careful to restrict myself to the reaction that any assassin would have towards a proposition like this, even though my pulse begins to quicken. "Although… if you can't _give_ me any details, Basil, can you confirm any guesses I make?"

" _I… er, it would depend on what you–"_

"There is some serious Vongola infighting going on right now, and it's growing out of control."

I smile.

There is nothing but dead silence in response to my words.

… _Bingo._

I gather myself into somewhat of a crouch on my armchair. The maneuver has a slight degree of difficulty since I'm also keeping the phone held in place between my ear and shoulder simultaneously, but I manage, and upon getting comfortable again I switch to holding it in my hand again.

"So, in case you're curious, here's how it spells out from my point of view," I begin lightly. "You're asking for an assassin unaffiliated with Vongola to take on a job for you. Of course, there are a hundred and one different reasons why people might want to contract anonymous kills of their enemies without drawing suspicion to themselves, but you specifically mentioned that this is a _protection detail_ , so that's the first strange point about it all."

There is no response from the other end, but that is only to be expected.

"Let's make a list," I suggest. "One: For this protection detail, you're looking at an assassin who specializes in killing instead of someone who actually specializes in guarding. That either means you actually really want to turn this into an assassination opportunity after all, or you're at least ninety percent certain there will be someone highly skilled sent to attack this person who you want protected, and additionally, a proactive defense is actually the same as guarding in this case. Strange, no?"

I rock back on my haunches.

"Two: You specified wanting someone not affiliated with Vongola," I continued. "But if you're protecting someone for Vongola, then why aren't you sending someone from Vongola to do the protecting? That makes no sense. In the situation that we're really looking at an assassination opportunity, then yes; it would make perfect sense to ask an unrelated party to carry out the guarding so there is no undue suspicion on you when the target dies… although, this itself is an act of Vongola attacking Vongola. Infighting. On the flip side, if you're expecting strong attackers and you _specifically_ don't want someone from Vongola to be doing the protecting… chances are it's because you _can't._ You can't, because _you're expecting attacks from others of Vongola,_ and officially, members of the same famiglia are prohibited from turning on each other _._ That's Vongola attacking Vongola as well."

I wait for a moment, but there is no forthcoming response.

"And three: Assuming that I'm wrong and it's not Vongola that you have to protect this person from, then again, you should have no trouble sending someone from Vongola to protect them… but you're asking for a third party party, not someone from Vongola's allied famiglias. I mean, of course it's also possible that you're trying to instigate conflict between Vongola and this new third party, but my background is completely neutral and _you know that,_ so you have nothing to gain from using me there."

There is a brief intersperse of silence, as I gather my thoughts to continue along with my reasoning.

"It's normal to see conflict even between members of the same famiglia, but calling in and involving third parties implies wanting an obvious show of neutrality, which is usually a side-effect brought along by the result of some volatile inner-politicking. And there's been some suspicious rumors wandering around lately about the line of succession in your famiglia." I shrug, "… So, Vongola infighting. Am I right?"

I pause.

"… Or, if this is all just a prank call… Basil, I want you to know that you're a horrible, horrible person and _you are_ _so dead_ the next time I see you again."

Silence.

There is no response.

I wait for a moment before stumbling to my feet and heading for the kitchen for a glass of water from that whole spiel just now, but right as I begin to swallow–

" _Impressive deductions for someone who was just woken up at three in the morning."_

I choke.

Because. This voice. It's not Basil. Not. Basil. It's–

 _Iemitsu._

 _What the fuck?_

"I… who is this?" I ask warily, because while I _know_ Sawada Iemitsu, leader of CEDEF and Vongola's Young Lion and _Tsuna's father,_ from past lives that I _swear_ will never come to be –I have not yet had the opportunity to formally encounter him in this current lifetime, and giving any signs of recognition or familiarity would only put me on their radar of suspicion, which _I don't need._ It is a _hassle_ to be mistrusted and mistrusted and mistrusted at every corner, at every turn, by people you just want to protect and keep _safe._

" _Your employer in the imminent future, if you'll accept the contract,"_ Iemitsu's reply is vague, but short and to the point. _"You've already guessed a lot about the situation, haven't you?"_

All surprises about the turn of events aside, though as much of a major fuck-up this is with _Iemitsu_ having listened in on everything in this conversation so far… _this is also an opportunity._

"Where's Basil?" I ask instead, and there is a chuckle from the other end of the line.

" _You gave Basil quite the scare earlier. I'm his Boss."_

"… Is this call on _speakers?"_

" _Guilty as charged,"_ Basil's voice sounds over the phone again, this time with another note of apology coloring his tone. _"Sorry about not mentioning it at the beginning, but Master wanted to–"_

"You. _Suck."_

Iemitsu's laughter is clearly audible in the background, but my hands are cold. Because Basil still lacks experience and it's okay to say all these things to him, but what would Iemitsu think of it? What if he deduces me to be a threat, and–

 _I just wanted to pressure Basil enough into telling me what this assignment is really about._

 _Protection detail. Unaffiliated neutral party. And right now, with certain rumors regarding the Varia going through mafia circles…_

My grip on the glass of water in my hands tightens.

… _Tsuna._

 _Tsuna, Hayato, Takeshi–_

(Blood, fire, death. Family. Family that is precious and will always come before anything else and _I miss you so much I'm sorry I–_ )

" _Since you've already guessed it, I'll skip the background briefing. There's already someone in charge of the protection detail, but he's under oath not to fight any members of Vongola, and we're… concerned, that there might be… close scrutiny on his charge."_

"Mm… I see." My heart quickens at Iemitsu's words, because _they're not accusing_. Even if I have raised his suspicions regarding the way I was able to accurately pinpoint the situation within Vongola, I have also succeeded in catching his attention. Which means that he'll want to keep me under watch, and _if this mission is what I think this is–_

"I'm in China right now," I say lightly, carelessly, even though my heart is pounding in my ears at the prospect of what this implies, at this chance placed before me. "If it's not too far, I'll take up this contract. Where will this job be?"

" _Japan."_

Japan.

Namimori.

 _Tsuna._

Briefly, I close my eyes.

" _I'll leave Basil to work out the details with you, then. I hope your performance will be as good as your records indicate."_

"Yes, sir," I respond, mind awhirl, because _Tsuna_.

I can see him again. I can see _everyone_ again, because I recognize this –this is the eve of the Ring Battles with the Varia when there is a fight over the legitimacy of the line of succession again, when Tsuna fights for his right to succession as Vongola Decimo. I hadn't… I hadn't expected having the chance to see them so _soon,_ because I had thought it would take first building ties through CEDEF this time around before being able to reach out to them without being suspected as a spy or an enemy again, but–

 _Family._

 _Tsuna._

 _Tsuna, Hayato, Takeshi, Kyouya, Mukuro, Chrome, Ryohei, Lambo._

(For you, I would shoot down all the stars from the sky. For you, I would fill the fields with corpses just to be at your side. For you, _anything._ )

…

" _Sorry about this, Kinu."_ My interactions with Basil throughout this entire conversation seems to consist of nothing but apologies on his end today –but at the prospect of having a legitimate reason to go to _Japan,_ to see _Tsuna_ , to be with my _family_ again–

I smile.

 _I'm really, really looking forward to seeing you all again._

"'Kinu' is a bit too strange of an alias to be using in a civilian setting, isn't it?" I laugh, "My name is Tsubaki."

* * *

(When Basil finally finishes the nerve-wracking phone call, he unconsciously lets out a low sigh of relief. Kinu –or rather, _Tsubaki,_ as she has requested herself to be called from now on; God knows if that is even her real name or just another alias– is a brilliant assassin with a sharp mind, but even in their year-long acquaintance with each other, he does not think he has ever realized how _dangerous_ she is until this moment, when all it takes is a few innocuous words on his part for her to dissect the entire situation and lay it out on the table before him like that.

Brilliant assassin, sharp mind.

A little _too_ sharp, he thinks, and feels a faint twinge of guilt when he sees Master Sawada sitting on the other side of the table, arms crossed and eyes contemplative. Kinu –Tsubaki– is… good company, even if the razor-fine edge she has honed herself into is a blade that can and will cut into anyone unsuspecting enough to be fooled by her age.

Age is no precise indicator of skill, and she is already in the stage of proving her strength in spades in the mafia underworld.

"Your thoughts, Basil?"

He knows that with all the impressive deductions that she has lain out through her reasoning on the fly (Note to self: _Don't_ call her at random hours of the night if you can help it.) has definitely, definitely caught Master Sawada's attention. What he doesn't know is what Master Sawada thinks about it, and… Even if she is a good assassin, rapidly gaining renown as the best of their generation, Basil knows that if CEDEF wants her to die, she will die. There is no question about it.

She is good, but not good enough to escape if CEDEF sets its sights on her and declares her a threat and an enemy to be put down.

"If the Varia chooses to send assassins after Decimo in Japan, she will definitely be capable of stopping them," he responds, and it's the truth. She is skilled, and for a stray freelancer like her with no strong background to fall upon for protection, it's a testament to her strength that she is still alive and well without having pledged her allegiance to any famiglia –an oddity, to be sure, since few assassins are capable of surviving on their own without a pillar to rely on. Considering all the retribution others seek upon assassins for the jobs they do, freelancers like her are a rarity.

"Hm," the noncommittal sound that Master Sawada makes says absolutely nothing about the man's personal thoughts on the matter. "What would you say about her as a person, then?"

"She…" Although Basil knows what Master Sawada is asking after, he isn't sure what to say. Because aside from their first meeting, it's always been on-and-off contacts with each other, so he isn't in the best of positions to be assessing her character. But also he knows what Master Sawada is considering to do about her, too, now that he has glimpsed more of what she is capable of, and the girl at least deserves a _chance._ "I'm not familiar enough with her to say anything concrete about that, Master Sawada, but I can assure you that there are good words surrounding her reputation."

It's not a lie.

"There are also rumors that she is an insane killer who became a freelancer only because her entire famiglia died," Master Sawada points out dryly in response, and shakes his head, a wry little smile on his face. "No, I understand what you're trying to say, Basil. 'Give her a chance,' is it? … We'll see. At any rate, Reborn can keep us updated on the situation in Namimori."

Basil dips his head respectfully.

"Oh, and be prepared for a trip to Japan yourself, as well. In case things go horribly, horribly wrong this time and the Varia really _does_ go as far as coming after the half-rings we're holding onto, here's what CEDEF will do…")

* * *

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…

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Author's Notes:

Hi everyone.

For old readers, welcome to the rewrite of _Onwards Till Dawn._ And for new readers, thanks for checking out this story! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.

So, for starters: lots of basic groundwork stuff for this rewrite is drastically different from the original OTD _._ That means while some things might look similar, others will be very, very different. OTD ver. original was a story that was kind of planned as it went along in the early stages, so it got rather difficult to change things later on –I don't think there will be that problem to quite the same extent in this rewrite since I've got a pretty good sense of where this will be going already, as well as an outline of sorts, so… kudos for that, I guess.

Tsubaki's character… will have slight changes, some of which I'm sure is pretty evident here already. A little more rough and callous, frayed at the edges, tiny bit more insane, considering her position and her situation –but still Tsubaki.

I'd like to drop a mention to **XxZuiyun** here. Even though I will be the only person working on this rewrite, OTD is a story that originally began as a collaboration with XxZuiyun. (XxZuiyun, your help will be sorely missed!) It's a little strange to be writing OTD without XxZuiyun now, but… I guess all I can say is that I hope people won't be disappointed by the rewrite in comparison with the original. I will do my best!

Anyways, if you enjoy this story, remember to say thanks to XxZuiyun for kickstarting OTD in the first place.

… And while we're on the topic of thanking people, also many thanks to **colbub** for writing _My Heavenly Judgment_ ,which was basically what got XxZuiyun and I into the KHR fandom at all so long ago.

Winter break is coming up soon! Expect faster updates during winter break. Sorry for the lack of updates recently, college days are really busy… and now finals…

* * *

 **QUESTION(1):** List three canon characters you're looking forward to seeing in the story! I will be choosing from suggestions for another canon character POV snippet at the end of the next chapter.

 **QUESTION(2): (For old readers)** Anything in particular that you're looking forward to seeing again about OTD in this rewrite? Because there's actually a lot of things getting the cut, so… speak now or forever hold your silence, folks.

* * *

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	2. 1: 02 Departure

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC]

Warnings: Some angst, vague descriptions of violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

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"… _Y'know, speaking from a professional standpoint, this practically_ reeks _of suspicion. Are you absolutely sure that you're not purposely running off blind into something dangerous again?"_

"I'm _always_ running off into something dangerous; it's part of the job description." I easily dismiss the cautionary words that filter into my ears and turn to grab the last of my clothes, throwing it into the small personal suitcase at my feet. It flops miserably into the mostly-empty case, limply dangling off the open edge. "… And it's not exactly running off _blind_ this time; I actually know the guy who called me. One of them, at least… so you can stop harping on my case for it, Zhan. Can I count on you to watch over this place for me while I'm gone, or am I going to have to look for someone else?"

" _Ehh? You're making me house-sit for you again? … But, but can't you at least move in to a better place or something? It's not like you don't have the funds for it with all the jobs you take! That place of yours right now is a real shithole, devil dearest, and if I'm saying that of all people, then you know it really means something. For goodness' sake, I almost lost three fingers last time I went over because of that crazy asshole of a neighbor of yours down the hall!"_

"… It's convenient," I respond mildly, unperturbed by the veritable onslaught of complaints. "And I'm just asking around. If you think it's a hassle then I can–"

" _Fine, fine, fine! Like you're ever going to be able to find anyone else willing to step foot in that place aside from me?_ … _It's a pretty dangerous game you're playing here, but_ _lucky for you, I happen to like dangerous games. Still, only for this one last time! Next time you try to drop your place on me like this, I'll start demanding favors!"_

"Thanks."

 _"… So, how long do you think you'll be gone?"_

"Mm… tough to say," the suitcase snaps shut under my fingertips and I move away from the thin bed. "I'm estimating a few months or so."

 _"No definite time limit?"_ A slight coughing sound is clearly audible from the other end of the line. _"Signing open-ended contracts like that is very much unlike you and that cautious personality of yours… Are you really sure you want to take this job? I can take a look into it if you'd like, before you start running off like this. Are you really not being blackmailed into it or something? I mean, I've still got a list of nice, clean contracts lined up here–"_

There is no helping the snort that escapes me.

"– _okay, okay, so maybe not_ clean, _but there's always a lot of work coming in over here! There's always plenty for you to pitch in with. Sure you don't wanna stay a little longer? What kind of job are you ditching the lovely weather we have here in Beijing for, anyways?"_

"Bodyguard." Although there is no harm in letting him know my general whereabouts, I still keep my responses short and succinct, descriptive enough to give an impression, but vague enough to cover my tracks all the same. "Japan."

"… _Seriously?"_

I roll my eyes at the incredulity aimed towards me, "Look, I'm just calling you to ask for a house-sitter while I'm gone this time, so if we're done playing Twenty Questions now, you're welcome to hang up at any time, Zhan."

" _So cold!"_ The immediate, wounded response is wailed into my ear in an injured sort of tone that one would usually expect to associate with a child, coming from the mental image of a kicked puppy rather than a grown man, which is… very comical, to say the least. _"I assure you, I only have the best of intentions at heart! Why are you always so cold to meee? … Geez, no one else –aside from that blasted eldest brother of mine– ever causes me as much worry as you."_

"In that case, then please accept my heartfelt apologies," I respond drolly.

There is an ensuing stretch of suspicious silence.

"… _Is that sarcasm?"_

I roll my eyes again and flip shut the cell phone in my hand, effectively ending the call.

"Well, that was productive," I mutter to myself in a small huff of detached amusement, and resume the last of my packing activities.

Zhan. He is… for all intents and purposes, a rather eccentric individual, what with that careless, childish attitude of his. But as eccentric as he appears to be on the surface, it does not change the fact that he is also the Handler in the local area here, and that itself alone is an accomplishment noteworthy enough to forgive him his scattered peculiarities.

Being a _Handler_ means that he is the one who handles the majority of… _job requests of the more lethal nature,_ from a wide variety of clients in this area, checking their authenticity before redistributing them to the various contacts in his network to take on. Strictly speaking, no assassin is _required_ to be in contact with any Handlers, but receiving jobs through Handlers is undeniably safer than seeking out unfamiliar contracts alone. The select few who aren't in contact with any Handlers are generally private assassins for certain famiglias –those are usually the only kind of assassins who have no need of a Handler's extensive intelligence network and have no trouble finding enough contracts to support themselves. And even then, a good number of private assassins will still end up reaching out to Handlers, whether for networking purposes in the mafia underworld, or to pick up on some extra work outside of their usual assignments.

As a whole, assassins can be defined using three different categories: private assassins, allied assassins, and freelance assassins. Private assassins are those who work exclusively for a certain famiglia or for a certain organization –most are outright members of said faction, raised from birth or recruited at a young age to become part of the assassination division. Allied assassins are those who align themselves to various powers, and even if they do not outright aid their allies, there is the expectation that they are not to take jobs from any opposing factions. In return, these assassins receive a certain measure of protection from the retaliation that is inevitably incurred from carrying out their jobs with their allies.

Freelancers…

Freelance assassins are exactly just what the word itself implies: _free._ Not beholden to any famiglia or any organization, free to take on any jobs they please, whenever they please, however they please. Today's client may very well become tomorrow's target. The price of such unrestricted freedom is that freelancers have no protection whatsoever from the backlash of their work.

A private assassin is protected by their organization, an allied assassin has a safe house from their allies to lie low in when their enemies come searching for them; a freelance assassin has absolutely nothing as a shield.

(Which explains the low number of freelance assassins in the work field.)

… If not for the simple fact that freelance assassins as a whole are able to charge higher prices for their services than private assassins and allied assassins, there would probably be no freelancers in the field at all. Private assassins have their missions filtered by the organization they belong to and allied assassins are much more easily traced and restricted due to connections with their allies, which makes absolute anonymity the signature of freelancers and freelancers alone.

(The majority of active assassins are allied ones –granted, some might be bound to stricter alliances than others, some loosely associated with thirty different organizations while others only one; so on and so forth. Putting things into perspective, freelancers who are completely unaligned with any organization whatsoever are _rare._ Even when Basil had called me for this protection task in Namimori, he had only specified that CEDEF's criteria for the job was _"unaffiliated with Vongola"_ instead of saying _"total neutral party."_ )

Unsurprisingly, the lack of protection that freelancers have means that there is a very, very low life expectancy for career freelance assassins. Most active freelancers are actually young assassins who have only just started their work in the field. Of those who start off as freelancers, most turn toward forging alliances around their third year of work if they manage to survive that long –and most of these alliances in the small surviving minority are fully settled and confirmed around the fifth year.

Personally, as a freelancer in her officially second-going-on-third year of work, it is highly likely that I will soon begin to be approached by various factions extending invitations to form… contracts, of the more binding form.

"As if I would truly accept any of them the way they expect me to," I murmur softly to myself. There was and is and will only ever be one and only one power that I will ever wholeheartedly align myself with, and that is _Vongola,_ because Tsuna _. Tsuna._

…

… To be honest, Zhan might suspect something about my strict avoidance of taking any assignments of an antagonistic nature towards Vongola, but he is the only one of my Handlers to have offered me multiple jobs targeting members of Vongola –all of which had been situations where my skill set would've been useful.

In general, it is common practice for a single assassin to be in touch with multiple Handlers. Most Handlers effectively establish 'working territories' for themselves and are highly influential in the limited areas they establish claim over; for assassins who take jobs in multiple areas, multiple countries, building and maintaining connections with numerous Handlers is of utmost importance.

Hence all the general small talk and small favors, small conveniences, that are often traded back and forth between Handlers and assassins… and hence a large part of the reason why I had asked Zhan to house-sit for me in my absence from Beijing. But for all the inane networking going on in assassination circles, most Handlers still remain neutral parties independent of any famiglias or established organizations. Although this is mainly for purposes of building and maintaining effective intel networks, it is also for the simple reason that it is the _Handlers_ who will accept and process _any and all assassination requests_ submitted to them. As long as what is submitted to them is a legitimate job and passes their verification checks, they will then hand it off to an assassin in their circle to complete.

The same, on the other hand, cannot be said for most famiglias or organizations. Once a power like that is created, it will definitely act in its own interests to work towards its own goals –and upon that road, making allies and enemies along the way is inevitable. There is no feasible way for them to even be able to kill all the people they want dead on their own, let alone accept all jobs requested of them indiscriminately.

Handlers have no allies or enemies. Only the spider web of intel that stretches out underneath their fingertips, and the shadowy blades of the assassins whom they are acquainted with.

The network of assassins that a Handler is in touch with comprises of far more numbers in contrast to assassins the other way around, who only tend to rely on three to five Handlers, total. Less-influential Handlers tend to stick with around thirty or so assassins whom they know fairly well, while the more ambitious ones are known to pull up to hundreds of assassins into their business.

Zhan is one of the more successful Handlers I know. He is thorough with his work and his personality makes him easy to get along with –and that's also discounting the glaring detail that it's _Beijing_ of all places that he has established as his central territory, the capital city of over-populated China. Sometimes it's a little scary, thinking on how skilled his intelligence network must be in order to operate on a scale as massive as it does. Frightening, to consider how many assassins he must be on good terms with to be able to maintain his power like this. How many people would come to his aid if he were ever to request it of them?

Any Handler is a force to be reckoned with; if not for their intel-gathering skills alone, then for all the different hitmen and assassins that said Handler is in contact and on good terms with. Since a Handler's main task is to sift through jobs and confirm their authenticity before handing them off to the assassin most suitable for the job, the more accurate, the more skilled a Handler is with diagnosing their jobs, the more assassins tend to keep in touch with them. Even though most assassins also privately do their own research for the assignments they take, the intelligence circles that they themselves are part of are a far cry from what a Handler's intelligence network can offer.

(Yes, there certainly are many, _many_ recorded cases of Handler-client alliances conspiring to take down certain assassin individuals by saddling them with suicidal jobs or outright traps, yet as a whole competent Handlers tend to do well for themselves –provided they actually _do_ their jobs instead of succumb to the lure of bribes, and eventually find angry assassins on their doorstep instead of their next paycheck.)

Zhan is not a friend.

He is, however, the spider king sitting at the center of a web that influences an absolutely ridiculous number of assassins, so while he is not a _friend,_ one would have to be an absolute fool of the highest order to have him as an enemy.

For all that our conversation just now had been on light, friendly terms–

 _He is not a friend, he is not to be fully trusted_.

That is a point that I am very, very clear about. Our relationship is one I will never mistake for friendship.

"Friends…"

The soft word drops almost unconsciously from my mouth, and I pause in the stillness of the room at the sound of the notes. There is something longing and bittersweet about it, for all the fondness it carries, which is… fitting.

A small smile curves over my lips. "I'll be seeing you all soon, won't I?"

I turn around and finish packing.

There is a red suitcase standing next to a cream-colored handbag in the dim, run-down living room next to the fake-leather chair. Beside the two bags is a large black case towering over both of them –equipment of a more _sensitive nature_ which would have to be delivered to Namimori separately through specialized channels in order to avoid raising havoc at the airport.

One last final glance over everything, and I begin pulling on a long black coat over my body before reaching over to up to tie my hair, preparing to step outside.

Save for the luggage in the middle of the apartment… it looks like a ghost room. Whitewashed, dilapidated walls, dull grey shadows, fraying carpet. Even the secondhand furniture scattered throughout the room seems to have a sad, drooping feel to it.

Which is absolutely ridiculous.

…

"No one is going to die," I say aloud to the empty air. "Not if I have any say about it."

… _When have you ever had any say, though?_

"Doesn't matter," I stifle a small yawn, the aftereffects of being woken up so early by Basil finally starting to catch up with me. But despite the lethargy beginning to coil in my veins, my voice is still sharp and pointed. "The battle is already half lost if I think negatively, so of course I need to be positive about my chances."

 _When have you ever won the battle?_

"Shut up. I haven't completely lost yet, have I?"

 _They say that talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity._

"… Aside from losing my marbles, I mean," I rub my temples tiredly. "Because I'm pretty sure I've lost most of those a long time ago. But let me know if you ever find them again, please?"

* * *

 _(There is a monster._

 _There is a monster, but it is not of human shape. It is anger, rage, hatred; the sort of vindictive vengeance born from darkness but coalesced into disaster, destruction, unbridled chaos –and it comes forth like the unstoppable tide, the wrath of a hurricane. It shatters the skies and splits the seas, and the world is torn asunder._

" _Will I ever find you again?" asks the boy of the girl as everything crumbles down around them, as the ground shivers, shakes, trembles in fear. Quivers in the sort of fear that comes only when imminent death approaches, and one is absolutely helpless, helpless, helpless, useless. Useless to do anything. Helpless to reverse the damage that has been done. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose anyone."_

" _I don't want to lose you, either," says the girl to the boy. "But you know it, too, don't you? Everyone is going to die…"_

 _The monster descends._

…

…

…

 _And so the stars fade, as light is lost to life.)_

* * *

I step outside, and as always, it is difficult to breathe.

There is a thick grey fog in the air. Pollution. The heavy, heady scent of motor oil lingers at the edge of the curbside as it usually does in this run-down area of the city, choking as it perpetually is. It takes only the barest of moments for the call for a taxi submitted from my phone to be confirmed by a driver close by, which is to be expected, considering that the destination is the Beijing airport –roughly five hours' worth of travel from my current location. Small wonder, then, that a taxi driver would arrive so quickly for the cash to be earned.

"Would you like some help, miss?"

"No, I've got it. There isn't much that I'm carrying with me on this trip." I easily set down the red suitcase in the trunk of the car before heading to the front again, smiling politely as per etiquette of civil society. "I certainly appreciate the offer, though."

The taxi driver this time is a middle-aged man with a checkered beanie sat atop his head, and a similarly black and white checkerboard-patterned scarf wrapped around his neck, over his shoulders. A pair of glasses across his face adds a rather bookish feel to him as a whole.

"To the airport, is it?" his lips dip into a small, courteous smile. "Which terminal?"

"Terminal three."

"Ahh, heading off for an international flight, I see." The taxi driver's voice continues to be light and friendly. "Is it for a special occasion?"

"Special occasion at this time of the year, when it's only autumn? You must be joking," I smile and laugh, every bit the image of a simple-minded young girl. It is easy enough to conjure up such a banal, day-to-day image –considering all the blood and death that I have been embroiled within for years upon years upon _years,_ deception is something I have learned to do very, very well; in the end, this is no different from wearing masks and lies over masks and lies.

(And blood.)

"Well, most people taking international flights these days are all going off on business trips, and you seemed a bit young for that, so I assumed…"

Small talk with taxi drivers is common enough, natural enough. Seems like I hit the jackpot with a particularly chatty one today, though.

"… I'm visiting family, Mr. Wu," I say instead, glancing at the nameplate taped in the middle of the car and revealing none of my innermost thoughts. If simply maintaining something like the cover of a business trip draws undue attention, then I might as well go with the truth. Sometimes, truths make for the best lies.

"Oh? Visiting family?" the man smiles guilelessly, as the car pulls out onto wider streets. "And that doesn't qualify as a special occasion?"

"Not a holiday occasion, at the very least." I shake my head, hands folding themselves demurely across my lap. "I assume that's what most people would mean by 'special occasion.'"

The taxi driver hums noncommittally. "Well. I'd still say that family is something special, though."

"You and everyone else. I won't disagree with you on that point, either," I smile dryly. _Special?_ Just simply using 'special' to describe Tsuna and everyone else?

 _You have no idea._

"How is your family, then?" I turn and extend the conversation along different lines, posing questions in return to divert him from focusing his attention too much on myself. "Are you planning to visit them once winter holidays come around at the end of the year, or will you be pushing that back to next spring? I know most people like to visit their families during Spring Festival."

"Hm… I haven't seen my family in a long time, so of course I'd definitely prefer to see them sooner rather than later. But alas, duty calls." Mr. Wu sighs heavily, fingers idly tapping at the edge of the steering wheel. "If I try to go see them as early as possible anyways, they'd only just scold me for ditching work, and then I'd never hear the end of it from them."

"Sounds like a loving family."

"The best," he says fondly, a slight tone of wistfulness slipping into the two simple words, before he turns and smiles at me. "Wouldn't you say that about your family as well?"

"Definitely," I respond without skipping a beat. This is an answer that requires no deliberation whatsoever. "The very best, and more."

"I'd drink to that," the man inclines his head, checkered beanie slipping slightly from the subtle movement. "… So, I take it that it's been quite awhile since you've seen your family, too?"

 _You. Have. No. Idea._

"… Yeah," I say simply, swiftly burying the volatile emotions rising in my chest under a layer of ice in the depths of my mind, because now is no time to become lost in memories and what-ifs and the crushing weight of _guilt_ from _failure_. Breathe, breathe, _breathe._ Everything will be fine. "Yeah, it's… it's been awhile."

The taxi driver does not notice anything wrong about my small lapse. "Ever think about bringing them over to visit Beijing?"

"What, and poison themselves from all the smog in the air?" I deadpan dryly, mentally pulling myself together again even though my outward appearance remains unchanged. "I think I'll have to pass on that, thank you very much."

(Pollution is only a trivial reason. If there ever comes a time when they _need_ to come to China, whether it be for Vongola matters or Triad issues, I will be right behind them –but doing something like purposely bringing them over, introducing them to the assassination circles that I frequent?

Not. Likely.)

"Well, who's to say anything for certain about the future? This city isn't all smoke and poison, really…" Mr. Wu lets out a breezy chuckle, "Perhaps you'll all come together one day and go out for some sightseeing? There are plenty of beautiful sights to visit around here."

"I wouldn't know about that," I smile and shake my head, "I'm afraid that I'm not much for sightseeing in general. Heck, I'd probably get lost myself while trying to guide them around!"

At this point, the taxi driver reaches into the pocket of his coat and hands me a small business card. "Here you go, then, little lady. In case you ever change your mind and find yourself lost, just give a call."

"Yeah?" Eleven digits. I skim a cursory look over the numbers on the card –more a simple slip of paper cut into the shape of a business card than any legitimate business card, really. "I'll keep that in mind, then, Mr. Wu."

"So, about visiting your family out of the country –is there anything that you're bringing over to them from Beijing? Pictures? Souvenirs? I hear that gifting keychains has been rather popular lately."

 _Keychains, souvenirs, pictures –what does it matter? What do any of these trivial gifts matter?_

 _Everything is carved into memory._

"This trip came up on short notice, so I didn't even think about bringing anything." My voice is carefully modulated to mimic a sheepish, embarrassed tone. "Next time, maybe?"

"Maybe next time, then."

…

The thread of inane conversation in the taxi continues, slowly drifting away from the sensitive topic of family into more trivial matters of day-to-day life. Part of my thought processes linger on the initial topic that was raised, though –and it's all rather silly, really, because it's all just idle conversation in the end.

Still…

Family.

Precious, precious family.

I want to see you, but I honestly also don't.

(I want to stand beside you, to smile and laugh with you, and watch those fireworks together again.

… I really, really don't want to see you die.)

…

Three steps, and I walk into the airport, leaving everything in China behind.

* * *

(The photograph is old, Reborn thinks. Dated late February of last year. And although it is not _old_ in the conventional sense of things, in the usage of identifying certain persons on sight, it certainly is old for the current usage he has of it –the area that leans towards using a picture for profiling.

The way a person carries themselves, the way they stand, the expressions visible on their face –these are all tiny little pieces that build and add up to speak to a larger picture, painting a portrait of the person as a whole. There is a lot that a seemingly simple photograph can say about a person. Pictures of children over the years shift and change, a gradual morph that is seeded with thousands of minuscule little differences between one distant snapshot and the next.

There is a lot that can change in a year even for regular civilians, let alone assassins.

… Regardless, Reborn is not the _Greatest Hitman in the World_ for nothing, and so he compromises. Makes do. Because even though it will not be entirely accurate, even though it will more than likely be off on several points, at least he will have a general base to build off of in his assessment of this assassin's character.

It's a girl.

She is young. Very young. Perhaps as young as Tsuna, even, though Reborn feels more inclined to tack on a few more years of age. Hibari's age, probably. That feels about right. The photographer had caught her at an angle, so even though the picture shows her face, she is not looking directly at the camera. There is no direct read of her eyes, which are focused on something somewhere in the distance –but Reborn does note that there is absolutely nothing reflected in her dark eyes, eyes so dark that they would absorb the light rather than reflect it. Or perhaps it is only the general lack of lighting and angle of the photograph that makes it seem so. She is very clearly an oriental, pale skin and raven eyes framed by dark hair completing the traditional look of the East. Her appearance is the typical, unassuming sort that wouldn't turn any heads on a light stroll down the streets of any city in Japan. Small wonder that she had been recommended for this job in Namimori, then.

She is… very serene, in this picture, which is strange, considering the conditions under which it had been taken. Reborn wouldn't go as far as calling the expression over her lips _boredom,_ but there is a distinct lack of tension about her, for all that she is standing directly in a pool of blood in the photograph –and Reborn has no delusions about where the blood in the scene came from.

What does this suggest about the girl? Calm, level-headed in dangerous situations. Unaffected by violence and bloodshed. Or perhaps even just uncaring about killing in general. There is no one exact answer that can be elicited from the photograph, but there are many implications seeded within the image, and all of them withhold sand-fine grains of truth.

" _Sorry, we don't have a newer photograph in our files other than this one from when she last came to Italy. There aren't any records of her having revisited Europe anytime afterwards, and the contacts in China flat-out refused to sell information on her. She seems to hold some significant sway in the circles there…"_

Reborn hums noncommittally for a moment. "Basil's friend, is it?"

" _Well, I'd use the term 'friend' very loosely, and only on a technicality,"_ crackles the other voice over the line. _"I'm not even sure if Basil has seen the girl face to face again after their initial meeting in Italy. Although, going by the looks of things here, they do appear to be in semi-regular contact with each other, if she just nodded and accepted the job like this."_

Reborn looks at the photograph again. Pieces together the image of a young assassin, a diminutive girl with a deceptive appearance that she has no doubt used again and again to her advantage in her line of work. Thinks about a girl with disturbingly well-adjusted attitude towards killing, towards assassination. Tries to match up the standoffish aura that the assassin portrays in the photograph with the impression of a young girl who establishes relations with a boy she has just met in Italy… a girl who is apparently an influential figure in China as well.

There is some missing piece of the puzzle here, that much Reborn is sure of. A missing piece of the puzzle, so to speak, but not one that can be explained away through simply analyzing photographs alone.

"When will she be arriving?" he asks.

" _Sometime within the next two days. We've already ironed out the details of the contract, so there shouldn't be any trouble on that end."_

"… I see."

" _… Reborn, the Varia is growing restless. If worse comes to worst–"_

"Ah," Reborn's eyes darken at the reminder. "I know.")

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

 **EDIT 01/03/16:** Rough edit of chapter.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Second chapter up. :)

Some set-up stuff about Tsubaki's assassin background is different here as well. There is _no_ Assassins' Guild in OTD ver. rewrite, but I might use OCs from the OC Submissions in the original OTD here if I ever find myself in pressing need of adding assassin!OCs to this story –I will make sure to credit authors for characters in the AN section down here if they appear this time around.

We will be reaching Namimori next time, so that's something to look forward to in the next update. The section at the end with Reborn's thoughts is sort of a lead-in to that. Anyone want to take any guesses as to what Tsubaki's entrance in Namimori will be like?

Slightly more world-building going on here explaining the situation with assassins and their general situation –entirely fictional on my part, but hopefully reasonable? I feel like there was never any real exploration into assassination work in the original OTD aside from using 'Assassins' Guild' as an explanation for everything, which is part of the reason why the Assassins' Guild got the cut here in the rewritten version. More elaboration/description on the assassins will come as they continue to be incorporated into the story. :)

Sorry for the slightly delayed update –I've been getting into Tokyo Ghoul again recently, so that's been a bit of a delay in writing. My apologies. Not quite sure if I want to start a story for Tokyo Ghoul since the sequel is relatively incomplete and I already have a lot of things on my plate to work with.

Feel free to point out any errors/grammatical mistakes you see in the text. :3

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Please choose _one_ out of the following three characters listed here: Hibari, Yamamoto, or Gokudera? No need to explain your reasoning, but you are welcome to do so if you would like. :D

* * *

Merry Christmas to everyone! With some luck, the next update won't be too far off, though I make no promises…

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	3. 1: 03 Hello

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC]

Warnings: Some more angst sprinkled everywhere, minor descriptions of violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

* * *

.

* * *

It's sunset.

The light of the setting sun outside drenches the thin scattering of pale, drifting clouds in a feather-soft film of cold vermillion, replaces those would-be silver linings instead with the hazy outline of a deep scarlet glow. Hints of ragged orange and piercing yellow, twined with aged gold, peek out in sharp bursts of multicolored fragments from the edges –but it is undeniable that the overall tide of the sea-sky is an overwhelming wave of red, red, _red._

… Certainly, it is a very beautiful shade of red. Almost like the color of blood.

(Almost, but not quite.)

The sight of the skies burning back in flickers of black and red so brightly, so vividly _–it brings back memories._ Memories that are better left untouched, if I am honest with myself. But I happen to be a very, very good liar… one born of necessity rather than one by nature, yes, but nonetheless a liar. A person who is intimately acquainted with the subtle art of deception.

(Including that of self-deception. Particularly that of self-deception, actually. It's not much of a surprise. Practice makes perfect, after all…)

If I stop now and take in a deep breath, closing my eyes, I can almost taste it.

I can almost taste it.

I can practically _taste_ that bittersweet, coppery tang of blood on my tongue, and when I inhale and breathe in what fills my lungs is the ghostly imprint of that musky scent of gunpowder saturating the air. Perhaps it's not real, not _physically real_ the way the word "real" generally suggests, but these tangible-intangible illusions born of my hellish reality are always there and ever-present to my senses. Always, always, _always._

To say that this scene of blood and carnage that unravels like silk behind my eyelids is something akin to a page torn out of a war is not quite accurate. Because a war, what is a war? A war implies organized forces on each side pitting themselves against each other in a show of military might, and _this isn't that._ This isn't a war; maybe it was once upon a time, but… not anymore. Not anymore. Definitely not anymore. "War" is no longer a word that does this atrocity justice.

This is not a war.

 _This is a slaughter._

Not always overwhelmingly one-sided, but always a slaughter. Always a slaughter. Cords of blood whipping through the air, bullets flying, sharp, maniacal laughter–

(Clipped words, harsh breathing, a shrill cry.

… And then madness, madness, _madness_. It all disappears under a thunderous wave of blood, before starting anew.)

 _Beautiful._

… Beautiful?

Yes, it's beautiful. Beautiful, isn't it? Very beautiful. Very, very beautiful. _So beautiful that it makes me want to kill something._

(Fingers clench tightly for a moment, curling around invisible knives. A sharp intake of breath.)

… Then I let my hands fall limply to my sides again, a near-imperceptible tremor making its way through my body before I manage to stamp it out again.

 _Ah, whoops… I'm doing it again, aren't I?_

 _Breathe in, breathe out._

 _Breathe._

 _(…_ _It's okay. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Right?)_

…

I let out a soft exhale and open my eyes again.

The clouds outside in the sky are still awash with red, but I no longer feel the urge to reach for my sword upon simply looking at it now… which counts for something, I suppose. I'd take any victories I could get at this point, no matter how minor.

"… I think I have a headache again." The words sound normal, but my tongue feels heavy. Groggy. Each of the syllables rolling off my tongue sounds as if they are coming from somewhere far, far away. The entire sentence is drawn out in a slight tone of complaint, but one without any real heat to it.

I press the heel of my palm into my forehead, grimacing lightly. "… Ugh. I should probably make time to catch up on my sleep sometime in my schedule soon before I really do slip up. This… this really isn't the time to be indulging in bad habits or mistakes."

 _But it wouldn't be the first time now, would it?_

… Yeah, maybe. Doesn't mean I can't try to change, though.

I forcibly tear my gaze away from the velvet sunset glowing through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows of the hall, and begin walking forward again.

Namimori Airport.

It's… it's definitely been a long, _long_ time since I last set foot in this place. But the general structure and layout of the building is the same as I remember it to be, the same as I remember it to always be, and neither is the scene inside the airport itself any different. The airport is always filled with travelers walking to and fro with various destinations in mind, travelers who are each engrossed in their own preoccupations, heads lost in their own private worlds.

There is no one who seems to have caught my momentary lapse. In fact, no one in the airport seems to notice anything amiss at all.

 _… I wonder how they would react if they know that there is a professional killer walking loose amongst their numbers?_

(Just a quick, fleeting thought that is swiftly banished from the forefront to the recesses of my mind like so many others. Morbid curiosity of sorts, you could say.

… Tsuna would never approve, so it's all just a moot point, anyways.)

It's easy.

It's easy, almost as simple as breathing, to step forward and melt into the crowd, small and insignificant as I match my gait to mimic those of the travelers around me. Here, I am nothing. Here, I am inconsequential. Here, I am only one of the many, many people walking down through the halls of Namimori Airport, and it's…

It's heavy, stifling, suffocating. I want to get out of here as soon as possible.

(It has absolutely nothing to do with being overlooked.)

I quickly hasten my footsteps as much as possible, but it's impossible. It's impossible to close my eyes to everything around me, it's impossible to miss everything –much as I wish to make myself oblivious to it all.

I walk past a family of three. The two parents have their attentions wholly and completely focused on the young child between them, a little boy whose small hands grasp lightly at their fingertips. Their soft laughter echoes in my head long after the family vanishes from sight, and carries over to the image of a young girl clinging onto the arm of a similarly-aged young man. There is the faintest tinge of a blush emerging on her cheeks, a slight dusting of pink as she laces her fingers with his and leans to curl against his side.

(Get me out of here. Out, out!)

Five more steps forward, and I brush shoulders with a businessman rushing by. But for all that he is clearly heading out in a hurry for a business trip or some other conference, decked out in a formal suit and all with a black briefcase in hand, his voice is soft and gentle as he speaks into the cell phone pressed up against his ear.

(Out, out, out!)

I finally reach the exit, pushing open glass doors and stumbling out to where the blood-soaked skies await me outside, welcoming the frosty chill of a cold, biting wind that seeks to carve itself into my skin.

 _Alone._

 _What does it feel like to be alone?_

 _Everything and nothing and nothing._

 _It's always the little things that get to you in the end, the little things that break you down. What does it matter, just one more time upon so very many? Shouldn't you be happy now, anyways? You'll be seeing them all again soon._

…

…

… _Ah. I'm starting to lose it again, aren't I?_

There are better times to be getting lost; for now, it would be best to stay sharp. I shake my head roughly and begin searching for a taxi to take me into the city. Now that I am finally, finally here in Namimori, I will be seeing everyone soon. Anticipation mixes with trepidation in my chest with the fluttery grace of butterflies softly beating their wings, and I feel the urge to smile again. Because. Because I will be seeing Tsuna soon, and I want to make a good impression. There are worse ways these first meetings can go, but I hope it goes well. It's always troublesome when things go wrong.

(Reborn will be there, too, so stay sharp. It's best to be careful before he becomes overly suspicious and decides to have me killed or something. The title of being the _Greatest Hitman in the World_ is not just for show, after all.)

I turn to the side for a quick moment, pulling out my phone to shoot off a quick text to Basil before I forget myself in my hurry again.

 _[Just arrived.]_

There is no forthcoming response from the other end, but I am not overly concerned about that. Instead, I return my efforts towards finding a taxi to head deeper into the city.

(That's where Tsuna is waiting, after all. That's where everyone is waiting.)

…

Straighten chin, lift head, smile.

Sunset-red clouds have slowly burned to fading streaks of black and gold in the evening sky by the time I finally arrive in the heart of Namimori, smiling.

 _Miss me, anyone?_

* * *

 _(… The world is dying._

 _There is no room for denial, not anymore. Not when the truth is splayed out before their eyes in all its bloody, gruesome glory. Reality rears its ugly head, and the graveness of the situation finally, finally sinks in when there is nothing left but the cold, hard truth that cannot be rejected. The monster has won. The world is dead, dying, soon-to-be-dead. What is the difference now?_

 _Everything and nothing._

 _Quicksilver sands run down the hourglass, the hourglass counting down the last seconds before the end of Time. In the scant few moments right before the world crumbles to dust and ashes, right before the encroaching darkness opens its gaping maw to devour them all, this is what the fallen boy dying in a pool of his own blood asks of the girl sitting by his side:_

" _Will I ever find you again?"_

 _The stars tremble and fall to earth in horrifying blazes of death and destruction. Screams and shouts and cries of terror. Neither of them turns towards it. There is nothing worth having in this world that hasn't been destroyed yet; for them, there is nothing left. Nothing. Nothing and nothing and everything._

" _Yes."_

 _There is no hesitation in the girl's reply. But the boy, seeing something else in her response, smiles sadly._

"… _But I won't remember you, will I?"_

 _No stars remain in the sky anymore, and the darkness presses down. The boy's eyes flutter to a close briefly. And this time, there is a small pause before there is any forthcoming response to his words._

" _It doesn't matter," the girl finally settles on saying._

" _Like hell it doesn't." A sudden cough, more blood splattering onto the ground. Drip-drip-drip. Hungry shadows slowly rise from the ground to meet the sky, and ravenous crows twist out of the bottomless void to circle down overhead; watching, waiting for the imminent feast. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't…"_

" _It doesn't matter," the girl repeats. And for all that her voice is harsher in repeating her words this time, there is no disguising something as cruelly broken as soul-deep pain and heartbreak. "There's nothing you can do, and it's not the first time. I'll live."_

" _But that's not living. It hurts, doesn't it?"_

"…"

 _The darkness yawns opens its cavernous mouth to swallow the world, and the crows descend.)_

* * *

I don't remember the first time, to be perfectly honest. I really, really don't.

… Maybe it's just another testament that speaks something for how majorly messed up in the head I am, that I don't even remember the first time meeting them. That I don't even remember the first time encountering my _family_. But… what does it matter? I have memories, memories, _memories_ –lifetimes upon lifetimes of memories of smiling and laughing and walking together, and that's enough.

(Or maybe not _enough,_ admittedly, because I am an unabashedly selfish person at heart, but… but it's something I can content myself with. I can be satisfied by what memories I have without forever growing greedy for more, more, _more_ like the ravenous pit of a bottomless abyss. That way lies madness, and I am already mad enough as things are. No need to aggravate things for no good reason.)

Tsuna.

 _Sky._

There is a saying in certain underground circles, where flames of strength and will are more of an open secret rather than urban legend. There is a saying that claims all skies are charismatic in their own way. This saying goes to describe that it's because Sky wielders are open and all-encompassing in their very souls, which is precisely what attracts other elements to it.

That's what makes Guardians flock to a Sky.

Because there is something unbearably empty, terribly hollow, in the other elements. There is something about these other flames that lacks an important part of its very essence, a void that the influence of a Sky makes up for. That is why in its very nature, in its very roots, other flames will automatically gravitate towards and gather under a Sky.

… I don't like that saying.

Putting aside cases of active flame users being able to survive perfectly well without a sky, there is something else about this saying that rubs me the wrong way. Because going by that explanation, it seems as if these bonds between Skies and others are all fake. _Fake, artificial._ It suggests that the powerful relations, the strong dynamics that exist between flame users are exclusive only to Sky and Guardians and Guardians and Sky.

(Not only that, but if it's really just a play on the nature of flames that draws active flame users to each other, that means there is nothing _genuine_ about the relationship itself anymore, and that is not something I will ever accept. I will never accept it. Humans are not defined by the flames smoldering in their souls, and family is so much more than that.)

…

I am not a Guardian. That doesn't mean I'm not part of the family, though.

(Right?)

 _… Not that any of them know, not that any of them ever remember anything. Honestly, why? Why do you even bother? Always building up relations from scratch again every single fucking time, always setting yourself up for heartbreak in the end, when every single one of them will never–_

"I bother because _I_ remember," I mutter under my breath, and raise my hand to knock on the door.

It's a very familiar doorway that I'm standing in front of.

(I'm here, Tsuna.

I… it's been so long, so long. You have _no idea_ how long I've been looking forward to this moment again.)

Three taps.

I limit myself to three simple taps with the back of my knuckles. Quick, brisk, polite. Professional.

It's nothing like the loud, excited pounding that Lambo might have when rushing to this very doorstep, nothing like the soft, shy raps that I-pin gives to the painted layer of wood. Nothing like the warm, good-natured knocks of a close friend dropping in for a visit, either, because this is not the identity that I am arriving under, and it would not do to incur needless suspicion so early on in our 'first' meeting.

But for a single moment, I am nothing but a childish little girl again, holding my breath in anticipation when I hear the arrival of footsteps on the other side of the door. Closer and closer and–

"Hello! Who is this?"

It feels like a punch to the gut.

(A swift, sudden, unannounced burst of pain that your mind fails to connect to your body in the instant you involuntarily curl in on yourself, helpless.

It's blinding.)

Her smile is so blinding. Warm, welcoming voice, full of cheer, and for a moment I am seized with the urge to cry. _Sawada Nana_ –

(No. I have more control over the instinctive reactions of this body than to break down on Tsuna's doorstep, and that wouldn't make for a good impression, anyways. So what? So what if it feels kind of like dying all over again when seeing them again after another failure? As long as I do better this time around, as long as I _succeed_ and make sure no one _dies_ _–_ )

Stay sharp.

"Hello," I sketch a small bow in greeting, voice soft as I hide my eyes from hers. (Afraid to meet her gaze. I'm sorry I'm sorry _I'm sorry._ ) "I'm here to request a meeting with Reborn. Is he present?"

"Reborn?" If possible, the bright smile on the woman's face widens even further. (It hurts, hurts, _hurts_. Don't smile like this at me; I don't deserve it.) "Ah, you must be one of Tsuna's new friends, aren't you? Come in, come in!"

"Actually, I–"

I am abruptly ushered into the house before I manage to say anything else, and so I can do nothing but swallow down the helpless little laugh welling up in my throat. Well, she's not exactly wrong on that count, anyways.

"The boys are upstairs. Would you like to go up, or should I call them down?" Nana asks as she leads me to the living room, and it's–

It's a mess.

Grape candy wrappers and toys are scattered everywhere, books and videogames are crookedly stacked on the coffee table, and there is a glass of half-empty milk acting as a makeshift paperweight for a few loose sheets scattered around haphazardly. Nana has a habit of usually cleaning in the evenings, so it's no surprise to see the chaos in the Sawada household sprawled out like this.

It's a mess, but it's a mess that I feel the urge to smile at, anyways, because I can almost _see_ them there. Here.

(Lambo popping candies into his mouth, chasing I-pin and badgering Fuuta… Tsuna attempting to do math problems, right before Reborn swoops down on him…)

"There's no need for you to bother anyone on my account; I'll just go up by myself." I pause for a moment at the foot of the stairs as I pass the motherly woman, "… Thank you."

Nana smiles and laughs and titters something about 'not needing to be so formal and polite, silly girl,' but what she takes my thanks for and what I have in mind by thanking her for are two very entirely different things, and–

And there's nothing to be gained from dithering over the staircase like this, no point, _no point at all_.

 _Time to face the music._

I turn and climb up the stairs. One step in front of another in front of another in front of another, and all the steps blend together for a dizzying moment, but that's okay. I know where the steps are leading.

There is a nameplate on the doorway. T-S-U-N-A.

 _I'm here._

I suck in a small breath, and raise my hand to prepare to knock on the door.

* * *

(Gokudera Hayato is right in the midst of fine-tuning the newest idea he has for altering his explosives when Reborn's head snaps up from looking over Juudaime's history homework. It's a sudden movement, no forewarning whatsoever beforehand, but it's _different_ –and Gokudera doesn't need to be the genius he is to realize that this, this is clearly a sign of something unexpected, something _wrong._

Something along those lines, at least.

"R-Reborn?"

Juudaime is startled, too. From his sprawled position across the room, Baseball-idiot looks up from his own books as well, a vague light of curiosity sparking in his eyes.

"She's here earlier than expected," is all Reborn murmurs in response, which, okay. _What?_

It is at that moment when Gokudera's attention becomes distracted once more, this time by the sound of footsteps heading up the staircase. Not the heavy type of footsteps from the stupid cow thundering around in the room, not the rhythmic _thump-thump-thump_ of Fuuta running up the stairs, not even the smooth steps of his sister gliding up with a platter of her latest concoctions fresh from the kitchen–

(Okay, so maybe most people would think that it's crazy to dedicate so much effort into paying attention to something as weird as _memorizing the_ _sound of your sibling's footsteps on the staircase,_ but when you're the brother of a woman who has traumatized you for life via multiple experiences of severe food poisoning from distant childhood to the ongoing present, can you really blame a guy for being too careful?)

If he has to describe Lambo's footsteps in words rather than feelings, it would be something along the lines of _loud, obnoxious._ If he has to describe Fuuta's footsteps, then it would be _light, cheerful._ With Bianchi, it would be _sedate, graceful._

The footsteps that he hears right now are unfamiliar, but if he has to put a word to them, it would be _controlled._ The sound of each step is exactly the same as the other, almost eerily so. It sounds almost as if they are making an effort to make these sounds on the staircase, to announce their footsteps, their arrival, and Gokudera doesn't–

Silence.

Silence, stillness, nothing. _Nothing._

The footsteps have stopped. The person –whoever it is– is standing on the other side of the door.

Gokudera feels his hackles raise, and–

Three knocks, and then a soft voice.

"Hello? Excuse me, sorry for the interruption. May I please come inside, or should I come back at a later time?"

… It's an unfamiliar voice, alright. The voice is female, but it's not _feminine_ the way Kyoko or Haru's voices are. There is no cheerful underscore, no upbeat cadence, no particular inflections in the quiet intonation –all that Gokudera hears from this girl is the brisk business-like tone etched into her simple words: Hello. Sorry for the interruption. May I come in?

… Suspicious. But apparently, Reborn has been expecting this arrival? "Earlier than expected," or something like that? Is this another part of the hitman's plans for Juudaime's training?

Gokudera allows his eyes to flicker to the Baseball-idiot on the other side of the room. Yamamoto Takeshi is still smiling, still relaxed, but his gaze is sharply fixed on the door. This doesn't assuage Gokudera's wariness in the least, and so he tenses as he turns to the door again.

There is something _wrong_ about the person on the other side of the doors. Baseball-idiot isn't trained in any matters of the underworld, but even Reborn has praised his instincts; there is a _reason_ for that, and even if Gokudera thinks that the other boy is an airheaded idiot 90% of the time, there is still the remaining 10% that is not to be overlooked.

Besides, what kind of suspicious character comes to a decent neighborhood like this at nightfall if they have no ulterior motives in mind?

"Go get the door, Dame-Tsuna." The stillness in the room is broken by the not-infant hitman perched on Juudaime's desk , and Leon morphs into a gun in Reborn's hands. But before Gokudera can leap up from his seat to grab the door for Juudaime like what a proper Right-hand man should do, Juudaime is already halfway across the room. _Such speed!_ "It's rude to keep your guests waiting."

Wait, is that a slight cringe on Juudaime's face?

" _I didn't even know I was going to have a guest!"_ Juudaime hisses, before throwing open the door, and–

Oh.

… Oh.

Oh, _that's_ why. That's why those footsteps had sounded so… _controlled_. It certainly explains why, if it's something like the slim young girl standing there in Juudaime's doorway.

Ink-black eyes, raven hair, a face that is every bit normal and unassuming, and if he hadn't been aware of it in the first place, Gokudera knows that this is a face that he would have no trouble passing without a second glance on the streets. And for a moment, Gokudera forgets. He doesn't remember that Reborn is actually _expecting_ her to come here, doesn't remember that she isn't an enemy. All remembers is the whispers and rumors and tidbits of information exchanged in the back of a dingy bar, all he matches up in front of his eyes is not another mafioso but a potential _threat,_ because–

"Get back, Juudaime!" His hands automatically reach for the explosives that he carries with him on his person, always. "That's an assassin! She's–"

"Greetings. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Gokudera stops short mid-sentence, gawking, literally choking on his words, because. Just. What the hell.

The girl had briskly stepped back in a decidedly non-hostile gesture, and she is bowing. _Bowing._ Not… not a bow low enough to signify deference or loyalty, nothing like that (now that would _really_ be downright _ridiculous_ ), but definitely low enough to convey respect. Which. Considering who she is, _what_ she is, what she does for a living, is just. _What?_

While Gokudera's brain is busy short-circuiting and feebly attempting to recover, Juudaime is turning into a stuttering mess, Baseball-idiot is standing to his feet and striding over, and Reborn is just _watching_ –the girl re-straightens again and smiles politely.

"My name is Tsubaki," she says lightly. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I haven't taken on any protection details before, but I promise I will do my best."

Gokudera's brain lets out a pitiful squeak and promptly shuts down again.

… _What?_ )

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

 **EDIT 05/23/16:** Rough edit, cleaned up a few grammar mistakes.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Belated Happy New Year, everyone! Anyone feeling up to sharing their New Year's resolutions? Mine is going to be getting my driver's license before the end of the year, hopefully sometime around late summer or early fall. :)

So, in regards to the thirds chapter –we've finally reached Namimori now, at least. Next update should be when Basil and Squalo come in, and if not by the fourth chapter, then definitely in the fifth chapter. I think.

(… It should be something along those lines, unless I go off on a wild tangent while writing up the next chapter?)

I was originally going to update OTD sometime around the last weekend, except… I actually ended up deleting all ~4k of the first version of the third chapter before rewriting everything from scratch again, since I didn't like the way that was headed. For anyone who happens to be interested, the original third chapter was supposed to feature Tsubaki and a run-in with some assassins targeting Tsuna at the Tokyo Airport, before eventually arriving in Namimori by the end of the chapter. I scrapped it because I felt the airport scene was getting way too forced and cliché, and there wasn't even really a point to it other than 'Oh, look! Lots of assassins in Japan. Crazy things about to go down in Namimori.' Actually, I don't even think there was really a point to it…

… Long story short, the first version of chapter three got the cut. And now we have this instead. A somewhat closer glimpse at Tsubaki's not so stable mindset? :D Somewhat, anyways. Please let me know if things are getting too messy or confusing from Tsubaki's narration –it's true that I want to make more of an effort in amping up the 'insanity' department in this rewrite, but hopefully things actually still make sense and I'm not going too overboard with this.

Also, Gokudera. Gokudera's reaction to Tsubaki's arrival might seem a bit strange, but there will be more elaboration on that in the next chapter. Also, he _does_ know her –just not personally. It would be more accurate to say at this point that he knows _of_ her. Hint: Tsubaki _is_ mentioned to be a talented 'up-and-coming' assassin.

Small note: The question at the end of the last chapter isn't for 'first character Tsubaki meets upon running into Namimori,' which is probably already pretty evident from this chapter. It's for something else –I've already got a scene in mind for it. If anyone is interested in a slight spoiler of sorts, I can say that it has something to do with the imminent Ring Battles with the Varia that we are fast approaching. :D And Yamamoto won that little poll, just in case anyone is wondering. :) Hibari got a lot of votes, too, but we have a majority for Yamamoto, so that's who I'll be going with.

Please feel free to point out grammar mistakes and spelling errors in the text. I'll go through another edit or two of this later, but help would be appreciated!

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Choose a character: Mochida or Longchamp? Again, no need to give reasons for your choice, but you are very welcome to do so if you'd like. :3

* * *

Till next time! Leave a review with your thoughts on this chapter, please.

XxZuiliu


	4. 1: 04 First Meeting

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC]

Warnings: Some angst and a bit of mental monologue going on here in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

* * *

.

* * *

"Hello?" I pause after knocking on the door, the sort of slight, ambiguous hesitation that can mean both anything and nothing at all. "Excuse me, sorry for the interruption. May I please come inside, or should I come back at a later time?"

For a brief moment, there is no response from the other side, and so I settle back to wait. I am fairly certain that there is nothing wrong with the words I have chosen to speak. Perfectly normal, aren't they?

(Unless my judgment is starting to slip again… but I don't think that things have regressed to that point yet.)

There is a brief scuffle from behind the wooden frame, and then the sound of approaching footsteps, and–

And even though I'm both fully aware of and even expecting it, despite how I _know_ what I'm putting myself into by coming here, by accepting this job, I can't help it. I can't help my reaction. I can't help how my breath reflexively catches in my throat and strangles my voice to flat muteness when the door opens and a pair of _familiar_ brown eyes that I would recognize to hell and back peer nervously at me.

 _Breathe, you little idiot; it's not like this is your first time anymore, is it?_

No, no it's not. It's not the first time repeating things like this, and hopefully it will be the last, if things finally go _right,_ if things go according to plan…

… Except, when do things ever go according to plan?

Even this one, even this current plan is falling to pieces, shattering into a thousand irreparable little shards of blood-glass under my feet at this very moment. I had everything planned out perfectly in my mind, even. Walk in, make introductions, and leave a good impression to start painstakingly building relationships from scratch all over again. It's not the first time; god knows which time it is that I'm on now, but… it's not easy, not easy, never easy; _it hurts so much and there's nothing I can do about this pain, this pain that I rightfully deserve for failing them all._

This pain…

I deserve it.

I deserve to feel this pain; I deserve to feel it a thousand times over for failing you, Tsuna. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive me for being selfish just one more time, please?

It's difficult, _so very difficult,_ to keep my body lax and still in this heart-stopping moment when I finally see him again. It's hard. It's hard to give absolutely no signs of any reaction whatsoever other than the general impression of light curiosity. But I manage, somehow. I've always managed. Had to, given the circumstances, where there's no other choice between a bad choice and one that's even worse and one that will destroy us all…

I'm running away again.

Except, there's no running away this time. No more running away. I knew what I was doing when I came here, and I did not come here to run away from what I can never run from.

Because he's right here, isn't he? He's right there. Right behind the doorway. Right in front of me.

My purpose to fight, my reason to breathe; why I struggle to stand up again after falling instead of simply closing my eyes and losing myself to darkness, instead of listlessly giving up, because the option of just _giving up_ –the consequences of doing such, the ramifications it would have for us all– does not bear thinking about, and so I don't.

He is here, my reason to _live_ through so much _death,_ over and over and over again–

He is standing right here in front of me.

 _Tsuna._

… For all the thousands upon thousands of soul-deep memories I share with him –memories I know full well that he will never remember– there is only one single thought that flashes through the forefront of my mind lightning-quick in the moment that Tsuna opens the door, in the instant that I finally see the face haunting my dreams and nightmares and distant hopes in the flesh before me:

He's so young.

He's so young, I think to myself. And in a way, we all are. But only I have aged in defiance of the fate that awaits us, and in some ways, I'm glad it's me, and not any of them suffering through these endless cycles of pain and misery –and even I would've given up a long time ago, if not for him. If not for his smile, his warmth, his hand holding mine as we wade through a sea of blood.

Obsessive, mad, insane?

… Perhaps.

(But I'm a good liar, a very good one, so that's a bit of a moot point here. Everyone keeps their own secrets, anyways. Everyone has their own skeletons, and mine will remain in my closet until the day I die for good and even after that. No one will ever have to know. I will not burden anyone with what I have undergone and am still undergoing.)

He's young, so young, _so young._

Eyes unclouded by the grim pain that becomes a constant companion in our later years. Hands unblemished by the hellish training he still has yet to undergo. Still bright, still hopeful, still full of strength and potential for _change_ instead of being chained and weighed down by ghosts and regrets of a war-torn world, our own personal Armageddon.

There is still hope. There is hope again, hope within our hearts and within our souls, even if they are all still unaware of the trials to come.

…

In the brief second it takes for our eyes to meet when he opens the door, I feel it again, I feel it most keenly: the burning desire to live, this searing determination to _fight,_ an indomitable, unshakable strength of will to leave nothing but rotting corpses in my wake as I kill and kill and _kill_ until there is absolutely nothing left in this filthy, ugly world that can ever harm us, ever harm our family again.

I want to hug him.

I want to hug him and have him tenderly put his arms around me, to close my eyes and be able to feel the heart-hearth warmth of his flames brushing against mine, to inhale and twist my fingers around his sleeves and assure myself that this is _real,_ that he is really standing here before me right now and it's not just an illusion, a figment of my imagination. I want to have him hug me the way he does when I come back to him covered head to toe in blood; not gingerly, tentatively like I am some delicate glass figurine that will shatter at a single touch, but instead a solid hug that will crush me into his chest. A fierce hug in which we feel nothing but the _thump-thump_ of each other's heartbeats beating in tandem, know nothing but the thunderously cascading relief of _Thank god, you're still alive. Still alive._

I want Tsuna to hug me and tell me, 'I'm glad you're back. Welcome home.'

And I would respond, 'Yes. I'm home.'

(Home, anchor, _sky._ All of us revolve around him in the end, our raison d'être.)

… But for all the violent, turbulent whirlwind of scattered thoughts and emotionsflickering through my mind, outwardly there is nothing but a brief intersperse of silence between us, when Tsuna throws open the door and when we come face-to-face with each other. And neither one of us is the one who breaks this short heartbeat of silence –a silence that may as well as have lasted an eternity, from my twisted perspective.

No, that distinct honor belongs to someone else.

"Get back, Juudaime!" A panicked shout rings out, thoroughly shattering the temporary stillness that stretches in the air. _Hayato. It's good to see you again, Hayato. How are you doing?_ "That's an assassin! She's–"

Hayato, Gokudera Hayato. Family, friend, fellow comrade-in-arms. The overwhelming tide of guilt-edged joy that surges up and weighs down heavily on my chest upon seeing him does nothing to stop me from taking the pre-planned, necessary steps before the situation can spiral downwards any further and escalate. Any more than it already has, at least.

"Greetings." I step back and sketch a quick bow to Tsuna and the room at large, careful to make it one of respect, but not deference. Not quite, not yet. For all that this is my family, _this is the family I have died a thousand times over to protect, and would willingly die a thousand times more…_ they do not know it. Yet. And maybe they never will, and it's still perfectly okay. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It's okay, because one day, one day I will make things right. One day I will make things right, and then we can all smile and laugh as we watch the fireworks together again.

… But for now, I will settle for simply introducing myself. It is, after all, our "first meeting."

(I want to make a good impression.)

"My name is Tsubaki," I offer up a small smile. A little stilted, a little bland, the banal smile that any assassin might plaster on solely for the sake of niceties rather than any true emotion –the sort of inane smile that an unattached assassin such as my current masquerade was might have. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I haven't taken on any protection details before, but I promise I will do my best."

…

Hayato looks rather startled by my words, if the gaping jaw is anything to go by. Takeshi doesn't have any reaction of that sort, but there is a subtle line of tension in his body –a subconscious follow-up to the reaction that Hayato is showing, perhaps? It seems to be the most likely possibility; the civilian life Takeshi currently knows would not have any connection to these underworld paths I cannot turn away from, and Hayato is a creature of the darkness as well. Not to the extent that I am, but a creature of the darkness all the same.

I'm not surprised.

"I-I-err, excuse me, but I don't know what-?"

"Stop standing there and dithering around like an idiot, Dame-Tsuna." Like a knife through the air, Reborn's voice slices through swiftly and without pause in delivering orders. Tsuna ( _Tsuna_ ) has yet to become competent in navigating affairs like these, and so as his tutor it is only expected that Reborn step up to take charge here. That does not change how there is a slight chill in my spine – _the Greatest Hitman in the World,_ they call him, and for good reason– when the pseudo-infant fixes his eyes upon me. "It's rude to keep a guest waiting at the door."

Dark, cold. An unreadable expression of total neutrality on his face. But not to the point where I have been sifted into the category of enemy; no, if anything, this is simply only the firsthand evaluation of an unknown factor.

I can work with that.

* * *

 _(Blood. Fire. A sea of red._

" _Hey, can you promise me something?"_

 _Chaos. Carnage. Unending battles._

" _What is it?"_

 _A fleeting touch, arms encircling around each other, a shaky cough that dribbles more red into the field of corpses. A heartbreaking scream. Heart-rending. Death and decay and despair. Hopeless despair. Desolation._

… _It is not them, not yet, but it may very well be them next on the ever-increasing list of the dead. Best be on their guard, then. There is a monster that wants to devour the rotten world, and them along with it. Or maybe it wants to devour them, and it's simply the world that's being destroyed along with them in this path of carnage sprawled out behind and before them._

 _Who knows?_

" _Don't die," says the boy. Commands. But there is no iron note of authority in his voice, no steel backing the two simple little words, because they both know it's impossible and entirely possible. It's just a matter of perspective. For one of them, at least._

 _The girl beside him laughs. "Tall order, isn't it? But don't you worry about it –I will never die, not until the day I finally accomplish what I set out to do."_

 _A small lull of silence, in which the world shakes and trembles._

"… _I'm sorry."_

" _Don't be; it's not your fault. I don't even know why this is happening, but… I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. A chance is a chance, and I'd be an absolute fool not to take this opportunity."_

" _That's not what I meant." Another tremor ripples through the earth. Blood starts falling from the sky. "I'm… I'm sorry you have to go through this by yourself. It must be so painful, having this happen every single time, over and over–"_

" _It's not your fault."_

" _It's not my fault." A frustrated sigh. "But regardless, I'm the one responsible."_

"… _One day, I will succeed, and none of this–" The girl makes a sweeping arm gesture, one that encapsulates the entire world with a single wave of her hand. "–will ever have to happen again. So please don't be sad for me. Because one day, the pain will stop."_

 _But when will that day come, when the End is nigh?_

" _I wish you wouldn't have to go through this," the boy admits. "It… no one should ever have to go through something like this, living through these horrors and sufferings again and again. Even though it's another chance, it's… very, very cruel."_

 _Kindness. Sympathy. None of that has any place in a dying world on verge of total destruction, and yet the girl smiles –smiles so brightly that the encroaching darkness falters and trembles for a moment. Only for a moment, but it is enough for her next few words that she speaks to reach the boy._

" _I made a different promise once," she says. "Multiple times, actually. But anyways, the point is –I promised I will do my best. I will always keep doing my best."_

 _And then the darkness screams and falls with the singular intent of nothing but destruction in its purest and maddest form, and the world crumbles apart.)_

* * *

"This is the assassin who goes by 'Kinu.' She is going to be your temporary bodyguard, Tsuna."

Reborn's explanation, though certainly succinct and to-the-point, may have been slightly lacking in details. Just slightly. There is a crystal clear moment in which Hayato's expression slowly morphs from shock to horror –the horror of _What the hell, this is absolutely insane._

Hm. How much would they know about Vongola's politicking situation at this point?

"You can't be serious, Reborn!" is the first protest that slips from his mouth, as he slams his hands down on the ground in front of him –a frenzied motion of urgency. "That– she can't– _bodyguard–_ "

"I would greatly prefer it if you would call me 'Tsubaki,' please," I interrupt –politely, that is, before Hayato can regain control of his words again and go into a spiel. "And I assure you that despite not being specifically trained in bodyguard detail, this will not affect my performance on this job. I have had… similar experiences before."

" _That's not the point!"_

Hayato whirls on me, completely caught up in the onslaught of his emotions in his worry –and I take a completely inappropriate moment to feel genuine _fondness_ for a fellow family member instead of considering just _why_ he has such a vehement reaction to me. Or, well, I might actually have a fairly good idea of what the reason of his unease of me might be, considering my understanding of his character.

Silly Hayato.

"She's a freelancer," the Storm says breathlessly, and I resist the urge to smile. "She's a goddamned _freelancer,_ Reborn. This has to be a trap! How the hell would _Vongola_ send a _freelancer_ for something as important as protecting Juudaime? It makes no sense! And why in the world would–"

"Do you doubt me, Gokudera Hayato?"

The sharp rebuke underlying Reborn's words brings an abrupt halt to the young Storm's tirade.

"… I assume this is a bad time to come around," I take the moment to remark slowly. Quiet, reserved. "Would it be best for me to return on some other occasion, perhaps?"

(Think. What would the reaction any other assassin might have in my place towards witnessing something like this? Towards seeing my validity questioned and challenged so openly, so brazenly, by one who understands nothing of the situation? Irritation? Annoyance? … Nothing? )

"No." Leon coils around the length of Reborn's forearm, but makes no attempt to transform into a gun. For the moment, that is. "We'll clear things out of the way today."

I incline my head at the brusque orders. "As you wish, then."

Reborn slants a look at me from the corner of his eyes. I'm not quite sure what he means by it, but then he turns away and I am left with nothing but a slightly nerveless chill in my bones.

"Yes, it's true that Vongola generally sends out its own bodyguards when needed, but there is a… special case going on here, so Tsubaki has been called in instead. There is no need to be concerned."

(No need to be concerned. _No need to be concerned._ There is no need to be concerned, since if it does turn out that I am an enemy –well, Reborn is only restricted to being unable to fight others of Vongola. There is absolutely nothing that prevents him from killing a powerless freelancer.

How convenient.)

Hayato still seems uneasy, though, and this seems to have influenced Takeshi as well. So much for making a good impression on that end.

But Tsuna…

Yes, Tsuna is still nervous. He is nervous, startled, caught by surprise, and it _shows._ But for all the bewilderment and confusion evident from his body language, there is still… there is still something about him that _reaches out_ to me, that beckons and calls and–

And maybe I'm just going crazy, maybe this is all just happening in my mind, maybe there is absolutely nothing I have achieved by coming here today.

Nothing I have achieved but one thing.

(Subtly, I study Tsuna from the edge of my sight, and assure myself that he is alive, he is alive, _he is alive._

 _I won't let you die._

… _Again._ )

* * *

("… Who was that?"

Mochida Kensuke is used to weird people showing up at the dojo his father runs. It's not on a constant, consistent basis, of course, but it happens from time to time –and one of the first things he has learned is to never question anything he sees, to ignore the strangeness of it all until he can almost convince himself that everything is perfectly normal.

Almost, that is.

That person just now? Never, _ever_ seen him before. Fishy. Suspicious. And maybe it's just his instinct rearing its head here, but just… something _different._

Mochida scowls when he receives a rough cuff upside the head for the thoughtless question. His old man simply snorts at him, though.

"You should know better than to ask things like that by now, brat. And he was just bringing in supplies. We're going to a new supplier for materials right now, don't you know? Kendo equipment is getting rather expensive."

The old excuse again?

"Oi!" He protests when he is whacked on the head again. "I didn't even say anything!"

"It was written all over your face," his father gives him a dry, dry look. "Stop looking for trouble, kid. Remember what happened the last time with that Sawada?"

Mochida can _feel_ the blood rushing to his face in acute embarrassment at the reminder of _that_. Damn it, damn whichever one of his lackeys who told his old man about the incident! It's just– it's just, Mochida _likes_ Kyoko; half the school does, but Sawada was just– just–

Okay, so maybe it was rather impulsive of him. Downright bullying, even, calling out someone _weak_ and _spineless_ over a girl and–

And it's not like he knew Sawada would've flipped a switch in the middle of the match, either!

… Alright, he _knows_ he's just making excuses when it comes down to everything in the end. He didn't want Kyoko's attention to be taken away by some _pitiful_ little kid, didn't want her to _sympathize_ with Sawada's weakness. _Uselessness._

Except, he wasn't so useless, as it turned out. It wasn't Sawada who was weak. It was–

"Stop running those little hamster circles in your brain." The indignant squawk Mochida lets out is totally ignored by his father, who feels no qualms whatsoever about flicking his son in the middle of the forehead. _Hard._ "If you've got time to be standing here and staring off blankly like that, you'd do better to get back in the dojo and fit in some more kendo practice, y'hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mochida mutters under his breath, rubbing his forehead, which _stings._ "Stop nagging, old man. I was gonna head over and practice soon, anyways. Sure you don't want me to help you carry 'supplies' to the storage room?"

"Brat," his dad says again. But this time, there's almost something fond in his tone. "You're still doing those conditioning exercises tonight, don't think you're getting out of it."

"What? But I'm even – _oh fuck,_ what kind of shit is even in here?!" Mochida very nearly drops the large black case that he attempts to haul into the house on his foot –probably would've broken his foot if he did. His old man catches it before anything disastrous happens, though, and all he sees is a faint crease between his father's brows before it is quickly erased and everything becomes normal again.

Except it's not.

Normal, that is.

"Langauge, young man," his father rolls his eyes as if nothing is wrong. "Didn't know you're too weak to even pick up a case of practice equipment. _Definitely_ doing those conditioning exercises tonight."

"O-Oh yeah?" Mochida reflexively growls in his own defense. "Well, not my fault you stuffed a bunch of rocks in there! Rocks ordered here all the way from… China? Seriously?"

In a flash, the baggage tag from Namimori Airport is ripped off the handle of the black case, and Mochida blinks at the speed with which his father hefts the luggage case to his shoulder. He's tried picking it up, he _knows_ how heavy it is –he himself is no slouch with his strength, but he's never realized that his old man–

"Go practice your kendo technique, son. They suck."

… And even as he is left sputtering in wordless rage at his father's retreating back, Mochida grits his teeth, spins on his heel, and _punches_ the wall next to him.

" _You_ suck, old man!")

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

 **EDIT 05/23/16:** Rough edit of chapter.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Hello! Sorry for not updating OTD in so long. Many excuses here such as: RL, RL, RL, RL, RL…

…

… But I digress.

At least the fourth chapter is finally up now, right? :D And also… I've got exams coming up reaaaallly soon, so don't expect any updates for approximately two weeks-ish. After that if there's still no update, you can start blaming RL again. Or me, whichever works to your fancy. xD

Anyways, Tsubaki's introduction to Tsuna & co. Hopefully it makes sense and no one seems too OOC? It's been awhile since I've written KHR stuff so I had to re-read what I wrote to try and get in the flow of things again, but hopefully it's not too bad or choppy, even if I've gotten a bit rusty. Apologies for that.

Also, Mochida segment tagged on at the end! There is a reason for that, even if it doesn't seem so right now. Trust me. xD

The brief scene with Gokudera's POV in the last chapter took up ~1k words in the beginning here from Tsubaki's perspective –about double the length of Gokudera's section, approximately. Very wordy, our little heroine here. xD Hopefully no one found it too tiring to read, even if it was a bit tiring to write on my end. I was originally going to explain how/what Gokudera knows of Tsubaki to explain his reaction, but I guess that's going to happen later. Couldn't exactly fit it in here with a section I felt to be appropriate.

Not sure if I'll continue actually writing out the rest of the meeting in the next chapter or end up skipping over it –I'll decide on that later, haha.

Speaking of writing.

I dabbled a bit in the Naruto fandom awhile ago, experimenting with new writing styles in _daisies –_ to be updated hopefully sometime before the end of this month– and anyways, something occurred to me while I was writing that, and it's been stewing in my mind for awhile now: character. Personality. Most of the OCs I write all tend to be intelligent, capable, leaning towards the serious side of things with varying degrees of (in)sanity. Maybe it's because those are the kinds I tend to enjoy reading about personally, maybe it's because of my own writing preferences –but I've been thinking of challenging myself by moving away and writing something entirely different, _new._

Like, maybe an OC who's a complete asshole. Tends to screw with other people and make them upset, impulsive and aggressive and the type to speak first and think later; does things in the heat of the moment and damn the consequences until they come back to bite him in the ass later. Actually, 'her.' This type of personality seems like a bit of a stereotypical street thug, right? Often male. I _want_ to write a male!OC because of the excessive amount of fem!OC fics I've posted already, but I think exploring such a character with a female might be more interesting. Guess I'll save the male!OC for _rising from a thousand thrones_ once I get around to writing that… eventually… someday…

… Yeah, sorry for the word-vomit there, but I felt like I should get my thoughts out there and ask for advice, since that's the main goal behind writing fanfiction here for me –exploring and looking for ways to improve my own writing on a fun topic. If anyone has any ideas or advice for the wall of text above, it would be very much appreciated.

Also very much appreciated would be helping out with grammar errors. :D

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Pertinent to upcoming Vongola Ring battles with the Varia! Again, being clear as mud here: Squalo, Bel, or Levi?

* * *

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	5. 1: 05 With Words

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC]

Warnings: Again with a little minor angst! … I might stop putting that up in the warnings here, actually; it's getting a bit repetitive. Nothing else of much note so far.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

* * *

.

* * *

"You understand your part of the contract?"

Now, coming from anyone else, it would be a downright condescending, degrading question to ask. And although there are many assassins capable of holding their temper, of biting their tongue at the insultingly patronizing inquiry into their professionalism, there would still be that instinctive flicker of anger and discontent… but coming from Reborn, the question was less of a _question_ in the way questions generally are and more of a _warning._

Clearly, despite his assurances to Hayato that I was not a threat, instilling a healthy dose of caution was a favored tactic that never went awry.

(I would know. Reborn's methods ranged from the innocuous to the cruel, oftentimes changing in the blink of an eye from one end of the spectrum to the other, depending on the situation and what it called for.)

"Of course," Smiling politely, I fold my hands on top of each other in a delicate, harmless gesture that fools absolutely no one, given how my 'background' as an assassin has been openly aired like this from the get-go. But it's the thought that counts, right? _Don't worry, I will behave. I understand my position in this situation. I am a freelancer, a nobody, a move for the sake of showing neutrality on the political chessboard only –Vongola is not a power I can risk agitating. See? I am a dog. An obedient dog, leashed by money and sated by blood._

(… Because this is what you think I am, is it not? No matter. I will play along for now. You'll see, eventually. We've got a long, bumpy road ahead of us in the future.)

None of my innermost thoughts reveal themselves in my expression. I have better control than _that._ Common sense, really.

"As outlined in the contract, then," I openly state towards the room at large. "From this moment onwards, I will be assuming my position here as a… bodyguard of sorts, until the end of the designated duration of this assignment."

( _"'Of sorts,_ she says,'" Hayato mutters darkly from the side, which I proceed to blithely ignore. Tsuna just looks horribly confused, which is adorable and distracting.)

"During this time, I will be responsible for stepping in as necessary to ensure the continued safety and wellbeing of the Vongola Decimo candidate from any potential threats that may arise, provided that it does not interfere with any of Reborn's obligations as a tutor."

Ahh, what other formalities were also part of the contract? It wouldn't do to forget any details here. Oh, right. There was the part that Basil had tacked on towards the end at Iemitsu's orders, the one I had put up the obligatory token resistance against. The sort of resistance that any sensible assassin would give, despite being overruled by the very insistent client.

"… In addition, I acknowledge the stipulation in my contract that requires the use of nonlethal force against certain parties unless given permission to do otherwise. I also hereby acknowledge that I may encounter sensitive information during this assignment, and if I am genuinely unable to remove myself from the circumstances in time, I will bind myself to a vow of secrecy, to be violated upon pain of death."

The entire thing is a bit of a mouthful, but it's better to clear these tidbits and stipulations out of the way formally before any unnecessary misunderstandings arise. I don't want _trouble._ That's not the point of my presence here. I just… I just want to peacefully _stay_ for awhile, to see that they are safe with my own two eyes because I _miss them,_ damn it all; there shouldn't be anything too terrible, too horrifying, too deadly going on just yet –I want to see Hayato argue with Takeshi, see Lambo raise a ruckus in the house with I-pin, see Kyouya sit down with Hibird perched upon his fingertip.

I want to see Tsuna smile.

Not a nervous smile, not a pained smile –but the sort of warm smile that lights up his eyes and matches the comforting _warmth_ of his flames, the smile that is the steady anchor that helps me find sanity in a chaotic sea of madness and despair.

This assignment? Nothing and nothing and _nothing._ It means absolutely nothing to me. My desire to protect my family, to keep them from harm, to see them _happy_ –ink and paper of a mindless contract, really? You think that my desire, my passion, my _conviction;_ the entire meaning of everything I do, the relentless pain I undergo, the reason for my very _existence–_

A contract? Pah. As if written words can ever _express_ my feelings, my determination. My ironclad will to see things through to the end, for their sakes. Unshakable, indomitable, even unto death and beyond.

 _I will not fail you. Even if I die, I will never, never fail you. This I swear to you, Tsuna._

… Not that any of them are aware of this, of course. And there is no need for them to know, no point in trying to explain this to them, even assuming that none of them accuse me as outright insane if I come out with the truth of my peculiar circumstances –of repeatedly living through the same years across parallel realities because _I can't save anyone;_ I can never protect anyone. Insane I might be, but it's a rather different sort of insanity from the norm –the type of insanity that is born from countless repetitions of helplessly watching loved ones be ripped away rather than the slow deterioration or rapid unraveling of my own mind. There's a difference here.

But I digress.

"I declare full knowledge of the details of this assignment and will strive for a satisfactory completion of the given task."

A small lull falls after I finish my words, after I finish stating my bland confirmation of understanding in compliance with what is expected of me by the contract I had signed. It doesn't last for very long.

"U-Um," Tsuna says eloquently. He is still standing awkwardly at the doorway. "I –err, uh, I-I really don't think I really need a, um, bodyguard, so–"

On one hand, I understand.

I completely understand him, I really do. These days are only the beginning of the impending chaos, isn't it? It must be so _sudden_ for Tsuna, then, for an assassin to just show up on his doorstep out of the blue and promptly declare herself to be his bodyguard for the foreseeable future, in true Reborn-style forewarning. He isn't even _aware_ of what it truly means to be an assassin or what my appearance here implies in the greater scheme of things, not quite yet, not at this point in time–

And on the other hand, something inside me _stings,_ recoils most violently at his words and instinctively lashes out blindly against the perpetual restrictions and restraints I have clamped down on my flames and my body.

But it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter, because I alone maintain complete control with an iron grip of steel. Even if he doesn't know it himself, _I_ know. I know that, no matter what he might think–

 _("I need you, Tsubaki," he says, taking my hands into his own with a shaky, shuddering breath. There is nothing else more important in my mind at the moment, and the world holds still. "I need you.")_

–he needs me.

Tsuna needs me.

Tsuna _needs_ me.

Even if he doesn't understand it quite just yet, doesn't understand the horrors that await us in the future, there's still time right now. I can be patient. There will always be time. There will always be sands of time that disappear between our fingertips so swiftly and so suddenly as the numbered grains fall and wither away. _Tsuna needs me._ And until the day comes that he doesn't need me anymore, I will always, _always_ be by his side, whether it be walking beside him in the light or trailing behind in his shadow. _Always._

(How long is forever?)

"Don't be an idiot." Tsuna is hit directly in the forehead by a flying rubber mallet, courtesy of Reborn, who remains as composed as ever. "She's already been hired; this isn't up for debate."

The note of finality in the pseudo-infant's voice makes Hayato wilt a little in the corner, and Takeshi just laughs. Just for a moment, though. The sheer nostalgia of the familiar-unfamiliar scene makes something undeniably warm bloom in the center of my chest, and it's a bit of a dizzying, heartening emotion spreading to every inch of my being that takes good effort not to let go and get swept away in.

"… Can I at least ask why?" the brunet questions meekly. And promptly pales with a small squeak when Reborn levels Leon at him in the form of a shining green pistol.

"Take a guess, my dear student," the Greatest Hitman drawls in response. "Don't tell me all those lessons about mafia politics went to waste here."

There is the note of an unspoken threat in those words, a promise of pain particularly embedded in the last sentence. Oh, Tsuna. But whereas Tsuna is already cringing at the thought of what new punishment Reborn has in store for him, Hayato seems to have stilled ever so slightly on the other side of the room, a sign of his mind kicking into high gear, which a part of myself hums in silent approval upon seeing. How much would he be able to deduce of the situation? How aware is he of Vongola's current precarious standing regarding the succession of Vongola Decimo?

On my end, it had taken a few lines of conversation over the phone, prior 'gossip' from my contacts, and an uncannily accurate hunch for predicting future events by virtue of sheer _repetition_ that led me to being aware of the internal conflict simmering in Vongola almost instantly as soon as it had been hinted at by Basil.

Hayato, though. Hayato is a _genius._

"Politics… Vongola…" the Storm mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowed in thought. I am content to sit back on my metaphorical haunches and watch how this plays out from here –Reborn hasn't motioned for me to make myself scarce yet, so I can only assume that he means for me to stay, however temporarily. Is this meant as a chance for me to get a better grasp on their personalities for avoiding future conflict, perhaps? … Staying here awhile longer certainly is not something I'm averse to, even if it really is entirely unnecessary for me to stay solely for the sake of that purpose.

Oh yes, I know them very, _very_ well.

"Mafia politics– um, err… maybe something about–?"

" _That's it!"_

Tsuna jumps a little upon Hayato's sudden declaration. It's a rather endearing sight to behold, seeing him startled in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with hearing new reports of death and blood and unwelcome surprises –this is only the innocent sort of sudden, startled reaction to a friend's abrupt exclamation, to _family,_ and something like this is perfectly fine, perfectly endearing.

Hayato, on the other hand, seems rather dazed by the implications of what he has stumbled on.

"Hiring another assassin for a protection detail instead of using bodyguards from the famiglia…" Calm, steady words, the kind of words stemming from thoughtful consideration and the careful analysis of a situation. "I understand what this all means, Juudaime. Clearly, this is another test from Vongola's upper echelons!"

…

… What.

"A test?" Two voices echo in unison –one tinged with abject confusion, another with piqued curiosity. Both Tsuna and Takeshi whip their heads towards Hayato simultaneously, and I valiantly resist the urge to bury my face in my hands.

(Remember, remember, _remember,_ you idiot girl; they are young, untrained, inexperienced in every way the words suggest. Even though Hayato has struggled in the underworld the way no child should've ever had to, that doesn't automatically mean that he is well-connected, and he _isn't_. Remember his fledgling reputation? Brash, impulsive, hot-tempered. Smoking Bomb. Things didn't take a turn for the better until after he met Tsuna and proved himself, until there was _light_ in this _dark_ world, and _that_ is precisely why he is so very loyal. Not because of Vongola's power, not because Namimori is a sanctuary of peace, not because Tsuna is a strong Sky or even because he is _kind_ in his nature the way people rarely are–

Hayato is loyal to Tsuna because Tsuna _accepts_ him the way he is and _trusts_ him the way no one has ever placed their faith and goodwill in him before. _That_ is the core of his loyalty. Why he will fight and kill and take bullets to the chest for the Sky that believes in him.

… It's something I can wholly commiserate with. This is the sort of loyalty that blazes from a small spark into a fiery inferno that will tear down the world and rebuild it again however many times it takes for your loved ones. The sort of loyalty that simply _exists_ and _is_ and once it is there, nestled deep into your heart and your being and your very soul –there is absolutely nothing that can ever dislodge or shake it from where it stands. _Nothing._

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself here again.)

"It's not just a run of the mill bodyguard mission –there's _no way_ it can be; Vongola would never entrust the safety of someone as important as Juudaime to someone they don't hold the loyalty of." As he speaks, Hayato's eyes flicker to me warily for a heartbeat, fingers twitching like he wants to reach for his explosives again, and is only refraining from doing so because of Reborn's presence in the room. Reborn, who would never allow true harm to befall Tsuna and his fledgling family. "She's a freelancer, Juudaime. Unaffiliated. They're usually only called on for anonymous hits, not protection details."

"A-Anonymous hits?"

"Assassination," Hayato confirms bluntly, a faint trace of apology coloring his tone as he delivers his answer –but he would not hide the truth from Tsuna. "Untraceable kills. But she's not here for that; Reborn was expecting her to come, and he wouldn't have even let her step foot in the house if she was a true threat to you."

… How rude there, implying earlier that I'm only here for a hit on _Tsuna._ I would _never_ do something like that; it is only because he knows _nothing_ –no one knows anything– of my true circumstances that I find it in a corner of my shriveled heart to forgive him. Besides, didn't Bianchi show up on occasion to 'kill' Tsuna for 'taking away' Reborn? That comparison was a little unfair, in my humble opinion.

"She's…" A slight hesitation, barely noticeable, but I have no doubt that Reborn has taken note of it as well in Hayato's next words. "She's a bit infamous these days; has been ever since the Spring Bloodbath. That's sort of like a free-for-all tournament where– no, wait, I'll explain later; it's not really relevant right now. Point being, she's a _known freelancer._ She's a known freelance _assassin._ By placing her here next to you – _it's a threat."_

… Threat, am I? Even after all that, I'm still a threat?

(You don't understand. _You don't fucking understand, idiot._ Threat, me? Are you joking? Yes. Yes, of course. Of course my hands are _drenched_ in blood, far more blood than you can even _begin_ to imagine. The corpses I have left in my wake are enough to form mountains. There is nothing I will not stoop to, no lengths I will not consider, no moral boundaries I will not cross _for the sake of my family_ –and you call me a threat to you?

Are you _blind?_ )

Small tensing of the muscles. Carefully watch his movements. If he decides to attack, regardless of Reborn's presence, regardless of this all taking place in Tsuna's room–

" _Wait, please calm down, Gokudera! Don't–"_

"It's clearly a threat! Vongola is probably trying to send a message to any other enemy famiglias putting surveillance on us right now that if they continue to watch us, Vongola will retaliate by hiring freelancers! They won't be able to outright accuse Vongola of anything because _there won't be proof,_ but since she is here–" It's rude to point fingers at someone, not that _that's_ really something I'm focused on right now because _Really, Hayato? Really?_ "–since she is here, it's a sharp warning for them to back off before they suffer the consequences of their impudence! It is also a test for us!"

Hayato suddenly turns and dives into a textbook perfect ninety-degree bow towards Tsuna, who immediately tries getting him to stand up –to no avail.

"I apologize, Juudaime!" he barks out. "I should've realized that there was secretly so much attention on you that even freelancers have been called into the problem now! Rest assured, I will immediately set out to rectify–"

Okay, okay.

As hilarious as this is starting to become –and isn't it sad, because this is actually a _somewhat plausible explanation_ for me showing up out of the blue– it wouldn't do for this line of thought to proceed any further, because it's actually a far cry from the real situation.

It's not external threats that they need to be focusing their attentions on yet here.

"You will do _nothing,_ please." I make a show of rubbing my temples to get their attention as I interrupt his words. It works, somewhat. Perhaps it helps that there actually _is_ the beginnings of a headache pounding at my temples, not that it's anything to be overly concerned about quite just yet. But it's a sign of reaching my limits, so there is no more time for dawdling around and simply enjoying the fact that I am standing here, right next to my _family._ "I… am here mostly for political reasons, yes, but not in the way that you're thinking."

Cue suspicious silence. A casual glance to the side shows that Reborn has no intentions of interjecting quite just yet –which is basically just as good as permission to keep on talking at this point.

"I am not sure how much you are aware of Vongola's… current political climate." Best to be a little more delicate with what I say right now. Some knowledge, but not too much familiarity, as that would only raise undue suspicions on me that I really, _really_ didn't need. "In a nutshell, there is a faction of Vongola that supports a different candidate for succeeding the position as Vongola Decimo. I'm simply here both to make a statement of neutrality and as a precaution to prevent any unfortunate accidents from occurring on your end."

One, two, three.

"EHHH?!"

I'm not surprised that Tsuna is shocked by this. I remember him mentioning in times Before –from the very first day, Reborn had candidly informed him that he was the only remaining candidate for Vongola Decimo; hence, no matter how hard he struggled to escape this position, he was always dragged back kicking and screaming. Typical Tsuna.

"Another candidate?" Hayato's eyes widen, then narrow almost immediately. He would know; Hayato would know very well about the bloody wars of succession waged within famiglias to claim leadership, to claim power. Blood spilling blood, and no one ever even bats an eye. Survival of the fittest. Only the strongest would be considered capable of leading the famiglia to glory. What the emergence of another Vongola Decimo candidate implied was nothing good for Tsuna, both undermining his influence and challenging his viability as the favored successor.

Ah, what a beautiful mess. Lovely.

"Vongola is trying to keep things under the wraps at the moment, of course –but unless you cut them off, people's tongues are always going to wag." I shrug in a careless gesture when suspicion settles on me again, crossing my arms over my chest to project the image of an unconcerned bystander. "For what it counts for, though, I received this information from a reliable acquaintance who is currently directly involved in this… dispute."

"Basil?"

"Yes," I glance over at Reborn's sudden interjection, and the pseudo-infant gives a small nod. "It was only after I signed the contract that he consented to give me more details on this matter."

"Ah. I see."

Hayato is now looking a bit pale, now that Reborn has also subtly confirmed my words. _Succession crisis._ The stuff that nightmares are made of; human cruelty knows no bounds when there is something to gain at the cost of another. Any price is worth the reward. No means are too low to achieve the ends, because the ends justify _everything._

I smile.

(A test, a challenge; motivation to become stronger and take the future into their own hands. This particular conflict will not have an ending carved by blood, not like the one that awaits us in the years to come.)

"… Y'know, I find myself mildly astonished by your apparent lack of knowledge on this," I remark lightly into the ensuing silence that befalls the room. "One would think that you would make it a _point_ to be aware of such matters, considering your current positions."

An offhand remark, a careless observation. A small poke, probing for a reaction. Tsuna remains guileless as this sails over his head with all the force of a flying brick, but there is something in Takeshi's smile that _sharpens_ ever so slightly, and Hayato _bristles_ like an angry cat.

Good.

(It is only by first becoming aware of our shortcomings that we can take the proper steps to make corrections before it's too late.)

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he snarls, and it's a low hiss that fuels another surge of fondness in my chest for my family. But, ah, I may have overstepped my boundaries a little in extending the conversation along the lines of what a typical young assassin might feel inclined towards doing in my place. Reborn looks at me in this moment, and it's not just a casual glance anymore –there is a subtle _intent_ behind it that would make me _shiver_ if I didn't possess such control over my body to the degree I did.

"I mean exactly what I said," I respond amiably, and stand up from where I have started to lean against the wall. "Do give it a little more thought, won't you? … At any rate, I'm sure you have things to discuss privately amongst yourselves, so I'll be making myself scarce now. It's been a pleasure making your acquaintance; I hope we get along in the future."

Not the most graceful of exits, to be sure, but that doesn't matter too much right now, does it? They have been sufficiently distracted; any moves that the Varia makes will not catch them entirely off guard. I have succeeded in achieving my secondary goal –aside from the primary one of establishing contact with them, before I can manage to stick my foot in my mouth like I inevitably do and ruin all the work that has been accomplished today.

My dear, dear family.

* * *

 _("It's funny, isn't it?"_

 _The sky above them is dark, distorted. Sickly red mired in churning patches of turbulent purple-black the way the celestial dome should never be, and there is blood raining down from the jagged shatter-glass corners of the sky. Pooling and oozing with a deliberate slowness that holds the speed of a thunderclap, for all that time itself has been shredded and broken beyond repair._

"… _Funny?" Lying on her back next to the boy in a field of wind-sharp blades, there is not a single jot of pain in the girl's voice. Instead, there is only something approaching borderline-incredulity in her tone. Perhaps it is because she does not care for pain any longer, but it is more likely that she is so far gone that pain no longer reaches her anymore at this moment. Or something like that._

" _Funny," the boy confirms with a smile. "You'd think that for someone who wants to rule the world, he would at least be aware of collateral damage when he's fighting. What is the point of victory for him if there is nothing left for him to rule over?"_

 _A wasteland of death and destruction. Symptoms of the inevitable decay of the world. Chance, luck, coincidence? No. No, this is fate. This is the fate of this ugly world, a fate from which there is no escape._

" _I think victory itself is the entire point of everything for him, if it's all the same to you."_

" _No, that's not it." The response is quick, and the boy shakes his head among the silent flowers of knives and blood. "That's not the reason why."_

 _There is a thunderous groan that trembles above them, reverberating through the sky. The entire sky is creaking and groaning, approaching a harsh, strident scream, as if it is unable to bear the weight above its shoulders any longer. And across the blood-black sky, more and more spider-web crack fissures appear and multiply –and the drizzle of blood dancing through the air increases to an outright downpour. The world is swiftly awash in a rich, velvet red._

" _Then what is the reason?"_

 _The sky breaks._

 _The downpour becomes a flood._

 _And then they drown, the young boy and girl pinned upon a field of cold, sharp steel in the epicenter of destruction.)_

…

…

…

 _("I_ know, _but I don't know_ why. _That's why it's so funny.")_

* * *

I almost make it.

When I exit the room, I am still outwardly calm and composed. But upon reaching the foot of the staircase, there is a voice that calls out to me, bright and lively and _motherly_ in the way that I have not needed in years upon years upon _years,_ but find myself inclined to pause and listen to anyways.

"Leaving so soon?" Sawada Nana pokes her head out from the kitchen, smiling in a way that lights up the entire room. I should look away. It seems that the meeting with Tsuna and the others has sapped a lot of my strength, given how it's so _hard._ "Wouldn't you like to stay for dinner? I've made extras today!"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am." My lips quirk into a rueful curve that she cannot see as I politely decline the offer. However much I _would_ appreciate the chance to sit down with my family again in such a relaxed setting, it would be wise to do so at a time when there was not so much mistrust pointed towards me. When I could reassert control over myself again, because seeing them again like this after such a long time leaves a dull pounding in my heart that grows louder and louder and louder still. A pounding that would drown out all logical, rational thought if I don't reign it in properly.

 _Soon,_ I think to myself in consolation, gamely attempting to soothe the howling monster that prowls in my chest. _Soon. Have a little more patience. Everything will turn out fine._

"I'm sure that your cooking is wonderful, but I'll have to pass on that." My own voice is sounding distant to my ears. Not a good sign. _I need to leave._ "I don't think I'm exactly a welcome presence at this moment."

"Nonsense! Any friend of Tsuna's is always welcome here!"

 _Always welcome here._

"… Ah." For a moment, something in my throat seizes involuntarily and the entire world around me blurs out. Shit. _This is not the time._ Distantly, I notice Lambo and I-pin peek out from behind her legs, and Fuuta appears to be somewhere inside the kitchen as well. No, focus. Reborn wants me to leave. Delaying my departure any further than I already had would be… most unwise. Best not to tempt a sleeping dragon. Pressing my boundaries again so soon was the least of my intentions right now; what I needed from them first and foremost was their _trust;_ trust I had earned through blood a thousand times over and now had to earn from them again from the beginning.

"I, I'll keep that in mind, then." I somehow manage to say. Is my voice strained? I don't think so. "Thank you for your kind offer."

It takes a herculean effort not to _run_ for the door.

* * *

("Who was that, Mama?" Lambo demands as soon as the front door shuts closed, tugging sharply on the front of the smiling woman's apron. Curiosity wars violently with childish petulance in his voice –all the attention had been taken away from him when that strange girl had glided down the stairs and Mama stepped out to say hi.

After all the time they had spent with each other, Fuuta knows a lot about how Lambo thinks. It's… refreshingly simple, compared to what he had grown used to in his days on the run. In the times before Namimori, in the times before _Tsuna._ Those days are… something that he prefers not to dwell on, but the girl just now–

It's a good thing that she seemed to be distracted with something while passing the kitchen. Mama had greeted her as another child, another friend. It wouldn't have done for her to have caught him tensing so suddenly in the middle of mixing tempura batter, fingers twitching and chopsticks nearly falling into the bowl from the spike of tension. That would be very rude, very impolite, and even though Mama would never _scold_ or _punish_ him over things like that, Fuuta has been raised with good manners and he's old enough to know better.

(It's still a novelty for him right now, that he has a _Mama,_ even though she is technically Tsuna's Mama by blood –she told him he could call her Mama with a smile full of kindness, and who is Fuuta to say no?)

"Tsuna made another new friend!" Mama's voice is bright and full of cheer as she answers Lambo's question. The younger child pouts, and is automatically swept up into her arms. "Now, now, no need to be jealous, Lambo. I meant what I said when I told her that any of Tsuna's friends will always be welcome in this home!"

Fuuta is only a nine year-old child. Most people would dismiss him at a glance for his delicate appearance and for his age alone, but Fuuta is a _nine year-old child who has survived being a coveted object in the underworld._ Still a coveted object, actually, but now with Vongola's protection, no one is brave enough to openly come after him –Rokudo Mukuro aside, but that had been a special case.

(These days, Fuuta still can't look at a chessboard without his fingers trembling. He is _so happy_ that Tsuna came for him and _saved_ him.)

… Point being, even though he's not a fighter, not like Tsuna and the others, Fuuta is still strong in his own way. When he looks at someone, he _sees_ things about them –not the Ranking seeing that he has been hunted like an animal for, not the type of _seeing_ like Tsuna where there is an _intuition_ that guides him along, but the sort of _seeing_ that is born from keen observation and an eye for detail. Desperation and necessity.

Fuuta isn't _strong_ strong, but he's _smart,_ and sometimes being smart is all it takes to survive, if only in the form of barely scraping by day after day.

That older girl who'd left just now would understand perfectly, he thinks, even though he can't exactly _explain_ why he knows so.

She's not… they haven't even exchanged words with each other, she didn't even seem to pay attention to his presence, and it's hard to put this into words… but it's undeniably something _there_. Bright? Yes. There's just something about her that kind of reminds him of Gokudera except _more,_ and she _lacks_ the brightness that Gokudera has, the brightness that _glows_ whenever Tsuna steps into the same room. It's not exactly darkness that enshrouds her, not quite, because she doesn't radiate the sense of _death, blood, the singular will to slaughter_ the way those who haven't seen the light tend to do… _she doesn't have that,_ and it makes Fuuta nervous. Wary. Because before anything else, there is an uncanny _similarity_ between her and the ghosts he remembers; he remembers waking up in the dead of the night, and _cold, pitiless eyes and the glint of a blade–_

Ack.

"Careful, Fuuta!" Mama giggles. "Here, I'll wash the chopsticks. Go be a dear and grab another pair, would you?"

"Clumsy Fuuta! Clumsy Fuuta!"

I-pin chatters something in Chinese that he doesn't understand, but he'd like to think it's something reprimanding towards Lambo instead of an enthusiastic agreement.

"Sorry, Mama," he apologizes as he gingerly picks up the soaked chopsticks from the middle of the bowl of tempura batter in his hands. His fingers are trembling, but the woman doesn't seem to notice, and he manages to quickly hide them under the sleeves of his shirt. Fuuta smiles shakily. "My hands slipped.")

* * *

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…

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Author's Notes:

And that's a wrap for the fifth chapter there. ~1k words longer than usual, too! Not too long of a wait from the last update, I hope? :) And THANK GOD EXAMS ARE FINALLY OVER. I'm actually going to be pretty busy with a lot of stuff this summer, but I should still have more time to write as compared to the school year. Probably.

… Anyways.

Looks like I decided to continue on from the last chapter with the rest of the initial meeting. Well, at least we're finally done with that now! Hopefully no one seems too OOC throughout this entire thing? If anyone does, please let me know and I'll see if I can try to fix things! This section ended up being a lot longer than I initially thought it would be, but I think it helped set some basic groundwork for future interactions between Tsubaki and Tsuna & co. in later encounters, as well as more insight into Tsubaki's mindset, the poor girl. xD Yamamoto was pretty quiet throughout all of this, but don't worry –he'll get more screen time later on, and I do plan on making a POV segment for him at some point. Fuuta gets a little bit of attention at the end there; very well-spoken and eloquent for a nine year-old, but I've always felt that Fuuta to be rather mature for his age, and that got reflected in the writing here.

Not much progress plot-wise in these last few updates, but that should be changing in the next chapter.

Fingers crossed for a quick update for OTD, but please don't be too disappointed if that doesn't happen. I have no plans to discontinue OTD, so even if I update at the pace of a snail, well, we'll get around to an update eventually. xD Any thoughts on Tsubaki's portrayal in this chapter? I'm trying to strike a balance between cohesive narrative and tangible insanity for her, so if I'm going too overboard with anything or if you have any suggestions for improvements, I would be very open to receiving advice. :3

If nothing goes wrong, _daisies_ should be updated soon. I'm about halfway done with the next chapter of that. On the flip side, I make no promises about the actual date. xD

* * *

 **QUESTION:** Because it was kinda hard for me to decide on which person to focus on for the canon character POV segment at the end of this chapter, I'm going to throw out a broad question here: _Please list_ _ **3**_ _characters whose POVs you'd like to see in the end-of-chapter segments!_

These suggestions can be pertinent to the upcoming Varia Arc or just the entire KHR storyline in general. Feel free to include explanations if you'd like!

* * *

Please remember to point out any errors you see in the text! Thoughts on the chapter and general feedback is also much appreciated. :D

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	6. 1: 06 Under the Early Light

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC, AU]

Warnings: Not much of note in this chapter, again. Slight, slight language. Pretty mild, all things considered.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

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* * *

Morning, five o'clock. There is a faint crease of rosy light glimmering softly in the sky, the sort of dull hazy glow that is both there and not. You look at it and it is undoubtedly there, but when you peer closer in an attempt to discern the exact shade, the precise hue –that is when you come to a startling realization. You realize that all which remains in front of your eyes is _nothing,_ and in this jarring moment of clear crystal-note clarity, you are left to wonder if it's all just a trick of your mind.

Vague, unclear.

… Yet for all the intangibility it possesses, you cannot deny it. Close your eyes and open them again. It cannot be denied.

Look, and there it is all the same –a soft wash of warmth shimmering lightly in the high, cold clouds, seeking to call awake the sleeping world. A warmth that seeks to rouse the slumbering world, yet sorely lacks the strength to fully do so. This scene, it is truly what one would call an effort made in vain, for it is the very definition of a struggle that will never succeed, that will never even have a _chance_ at succeeding, until the sun fully rises. What can a faint sliver of early light ever hope to accomplish on its own?

(This light, it is the true embodiment of frustration-warring-with-helplessness-come-misery, a feeling that I know all too well. But that is all a little neither here nor there at the moment.)

" _Good mor-ning, Kinu!"_

Like a cascade, a sudden sun-shower. With all the cheer of brilliant sunshine breaking through the aftermath of ashen storm-heavy clouds, Zhan's enthusiastic voice rings stridently against my ears, in stark contrast to the quietness of the still morning. The first stirrings of another headache rears itself in the back of my head. _"How's the weather over there in Japan today, my friend? I'll bet that you're missing China already."_

"You must be joking," I automatically respond. The words themselves are cold and cutting, but I make sure to school my tone into something along the lines of an easygoing, good-natured humor. "I've only just arrived here last night."

" _Details, details. It's all the same in the end, isn't it?"_

I stretch and lean backwards over my cushioned seat in front of the windows, bending back and back until everything is turned upside down when I open my eyes again.

"… So," I begin, voice soft and inquiring. "Since I highly doubt that you have enough spare time on your hands to be making friendly calls this early for no reason other than socializing, may I ask why it is that you're calling me, Zhan? You usually don't make it a point to call any of us when you already know that we're on a job."

" _Ehhh… can't I call my favorite assassin just to see how she's doing?"_

I sigh and roll my eyes at the dramatic tone –not that he can actually see the motion from the other side or anything, but it's the principle of the matter here. "Yes, yes, of course you can. Now, does there conveniently also happen to be something else that you'd like to inform me of before I hang up?"

Zhan's overall demeanor in interacting with others is generally one that implies silliness and exudes exuberance. It's exasperating at times, as different as it is from the approach that most Handlers take, but it doesn't mean that he is _stupid_ –far from it, really. Part of the reason why I have never been able to find myself at ease around him is precisely because of this carefree mask, a mask so carefree that it seems real more often than not.

(We all wear masks on our faces and over our hearts, in this line of work.)

" _Mm… you make it sound so suspicious, Kinu. It breaks my heart, it really does."_ There is a dull _thud_ in my chest at these next words, a sudden dip that has nothing to do with the words themselves. It's at the definite faux-casual edge that bleeds in to color the usual air of nonchalance in his voice. Slight, barely evident, but the near-imperceptible change in cadence is enough for me to immediately put aside the lightheartedness in my own demeanor as well and carefully listen for his next words. Because for all that his voice remains light, _something_ has changed –and even if I cannot pin it down completely into words, this feeling, I know better than to dismiss it so easily.

This does not bode well.

It may sound silly, promptly basing such cautious reactions off of something as minor as a small change in tone in a light conversation. But just as I can rely on Zhan to consistently act like a three year-old instead of the grown man he actually is, it should never be understated that _Zhan is a Handler._ And even among Handlers, he is of the most quick-witted, sly, devious sort, on a level entirely different from what one would initially think. The same sentence spoken in three different ways coming from him can have three entirely different meanings.

… Of course it doesn't _seem_ so on the surface. Zhan is constantly friendly and upbeat, and those who have grown used to seeing him like this tend to think of him as a brainless fool who has only retained his position by virtue of some greater backer behind him, using him as a puppet in the public eye. But to others who _look_ and _see_ –well. Infallible I am not, but at the very least I am not blind. I have interacted closely enough to know that Zhan is a snake through and through, for all that he puts on an act of good cheer, and I would be a fool to ignore him when he has so clearly signaled that there is another meaning within his words.

I twist and bonelessly twine myself over the cushions on the empty apartment's couch so I am sitting right-side up again, facing the darkness of the empty room.

" _I'm just checking in on you here, honest!"_ the man says, and for all that the words themselves are plain and simple, it is a far cry from the truth. Maybe it's not a complete lie, but I know that it is not the truth. _"Y'know, making sure nothing's gone to hell yet on your side and all that… You rarely take private contracts directly, do you?"_

The cell phone feels unusually cold in the palm of my hand, pressed against my ear. It's a bit too late to be wishing that I never picked up this call and pretended to be asleep instead, though.

 _I'm just checking in on you._

Translation: I need to speak with you. But the implication of using 'checking in on' instead of 'checking in with' was a sign of _surveillance,_ spoken in such a way. Either on his side or mine or both. Being watched is nothing new, but being warned of it like this… it's definitely not one of the usual sources that tries to keep an eye out for Zhan's activities, then. Someone else had tapped these lines, someone that he thought I would want to be aware of, or someone whose unwanted attentions were focused on his end.

 _Making sure nothing's gone to hell yet._

Translation: Trouble. With his connections, it wasn't too far of a stretch to think that he might've used some resources in Japan to check up on the situation –not for _me,_ good heavens, no… but for _Vongola._ The sudden focus of the strongest famiglia in Italy turning to some no-name town in Japan? Who _wouldn't_ suspect something unusual about Namimori, even if they couldn't openly enter to investigate? I wouldn't be surprised if Zhan managed to turn up something about Vongola's increased activities lately in Japan.

 _You rarely take private contracts directly._

Translation: As there was a slight pause from the last sentence to this one, spoken as if in an offhand comment –an inquiry, then. _Are you involved in Vongola matters here?_ It's a bit crude, to ask about the contents of a private assignment like this. A breach of privacy towards the client, one could say– but that would be precisely why he was asking in a subtle, roundabout manner like this. A manner that others wouldn't suspect anything of even if they did go to the lengths of tapping a Handler's line to eavesdrop on their exchanges.

… How lovely. In a nutshell: We were being watched, Zhan was already suspecting something major about to go down in Japan, and he thought I might be connected with it somehow.

Very uncanny intuition, that man.

"Ah. Is that so?" My voice contains nothing but a loose sort of disinterested neutrality. "Thanks for the check-up, then. I don't really keep track of my jobs like this… but I'll admit that it's been awhile since I've taken on private contracts. Although, if you're suggesting that my job is going to 'go to hell,' then you and I need to have a few words with each other once I return."

An ambivalent response. By thanking him for checking in on me, I was tacitly acknowledging that I was aware of the surveillance on us. Not keeping track of my jobs was a claim of ignorance to what was going on in Namimori, but by mentioning a willingness to converse with him about this in more detail face-to-face once this job ended, it was also an offer of placation.

(There would be no true benefit in keeping things secret by that point, anyways; it wasn't as if people _weren't_ watching Namimori, what with Vongola's heightened interest in Japan and all.)

" _Wait, wait, that's not what I meant!"_ A short burst of nervous laughter emanates from the other end of the line. Fake. _"You think too much, Kinu. Not that it's a bad thing! But… y'know, there are as many possibilities for things as there are stars reflected in the sea. Can't you try to keep a more positive attitude? Give the benefit of doubt, maybe?"_

… 'As many possibilities as there are stars reflected in the sea,' huh. And 'giving the benefit of doubt?' A light change of topic here, but coming at a time like this…

Che.

"If I did that, I'd be dead by now," I respond dryly. "Like I've said before, I will only trust what I see with my own two eyes. Nothing more, nothing less."

" _And you always complain that I know you so well."_ It's a half-teasing, half-resigned comment from him that comes out with a light, breathless chuckle. _"… Yeah, I know what you mean. You're right that there's a reason why I'm calling you while you're in the middle of your job like this, but since it seems like you're busy, I'll give you the details once you're back in China. How's that sound?"_

"Mm. That's fine with me."

" _Great! Keep up the good work and I'll see you soon!"_

"… You do recall that it's not even work that you passed to me this time, right?" I point out in faint amusement, a thin coil of tension finally leaving my shoulders now that the conversation is winding to a close. "But I appreciate the sentiment all the same. I'll see you in China once I return, after this job ends."

" _Yup, yup. Sounds good! Bye-bye, Kinu!"_

Dial tone.

…

I heave a heavy sigh, a weary sound that is more of a groan than anything else, and throw my head back against the cushions of the low couch that my body is curled up in. It helps to lighten the weight on my chest, but not by much. But then again, what else had I been expecting?

… Definitely not news of such close scrutiny on Namimori already first thing in the morning, right after arriving in Namimori the night before.

"Geez…" I mutter quietly to myself, exhaling a breathless little laugh into the air as I cover my eyes with the back of a hand. "The timing of this all, you'd think they conspired together beforehand and did it on purpose…"

The conversation just now –not something I particularly enjoyed doing, but ever so necessary in treading the waters this underworld. Upon a cursory glance, it would be nothing but the casual conversation of a Handler checking up on one of his contacts, an assassin who had decided to undertake a private contract. Without being aware of a double-meaning seeded underneath the innocuous words, it would be _easy_ to think of it as a banal, inane exchange between assassin and Handler. And for someone with Zhan's personality, it wouldn't even be too far-fetched to think of it as something _genuine._

But… I know better than to think that way. How many others have done so before, and paid dearly for it?

(It's a fact that's easy to overlook at times, but would _never_ do to be forgotten. Zhan is a Handler. _Zhan is a Handler._ So no matter how friendly his demeanor, how helpful he seems, how amiable his disposition –he is not to be underestimated. For all his whimsical cheer, it would never do to forget the web of blood and death spun around his fingertips.

Ever.)

His voice… subtle, but with all the time I had spent with him, it was easy to tell when he meant what he said and when there were other messages embedded within his words. Or at least, it was easy to discern when he _wanted_ a different message to be sent across; I would not be able to guarantee perfect accuracy in reading Zhan's true thoughts, even though I know enough to be aware of when he was doing such on purpose. We are all liars under the mask of civilized manners and sincerity.

From innocuous and teasing to innocuous and teasing, it certainly _seemed_ like there was nothing unusual. But instead of the harmless, friendly tone he used for all of his contacts on a daily basis, his voice had dropped into something that was a tad bit too unusually airy and casual, almost dismissive, in a way. And _that_ had been the exact moment when I knew that there was something else that he wanted to convey to me underneath the surface of that innocent air.

… He's a true headache, is what he is, dropping this on me right _after_ I've arrived in Namimori. Bastard. But… no matter the reasons, everything would have to wait. I needed to meet with him, but only after this contract has ended.

There is a _reason_ why I am here in Namimori. Why I have chosen to come here. Aside from the job in front of me right now, nothing else matters. _Absolutely nothing else matters._

(Nothing can distract me from my family. For what other reason do I exist in this world?)

In a sudden movement, I stand up from the couch, smoothly stretching out my stiff shoulders in a fluid motion as I move to grab a black jacket from where it had been carelessly thrown to the ground last night. I'd promptly crashed after finally making my way to this place after visiting Tsuna, so I would need to take time to unpack and organize things here at some point. That could be done sometime later today, though.

For all the heaviness in my chest from that conversation, it does not deter me from going forth with my plans for the day and doing what needs to be done. There is a _reason_ why I'd decided to get up early this morning, and it certainly wasn't for an unwelcome phone call from Zhan. Who in the world would specifically get up early for something like _that?_

* * *

" _Who the hell in their right mind comes to a dojo this early in the morning on a weekday?!"_

Footsteps. To be precise, the fast-paced _thump-thump-thumps_ of a furious, irritated set of stomping that is muffled only by virtue of the set of wooden doors standing underneath the tall, arched doorway. For a moment, I allow myself to be mildly surprised. Mochida Kensuke is not exactly a morning person, and I had fully expected Mochida Sr. to be answering the door instead… but it is nothing in the grand scheme of things. It doesn't matter whether it is Kensuke or Masao that I see.

"Hello," I give a friendly smile to the young boy who practically slams open the door with all the grace of a stumbling elephant. Ah, just as I remember –he definitely isn't a morning person, if the dark cloud hovering over him is anything to go by. But as ill-tempered as Kensuke tends to be in the mornings, he still has enough semblance of good sense that nudges him into muttering back proper greetings in response.

… Or perhaps he is simply surprised by seeing a young girl standing on the doorstep of his family's dojo instead of, say, one of the dojo's long-time students.

Who knows?

"What do you want?" the boy grumbles aloud, slouching, and I carefully allow a sharp edge enters my smile. He doesn't notice… pity, that. Seems like I stand corrected –it can only be Masao here, then.

"You're not the one I'm looking for," I tell him plainly, never losing the pleasantry in my demeanor. "Where is Masao?"

Apparently, it's the wrong thing to say.

Almost immediately, he stiffens and narrows his eyes. The grouchiness in his countenance turns into something almost threatening, at which I stifle an inward frown. Strange reaction, for someone not yet aware of the 'family business.'

(Mochida Kensuke is plain in appearance, raven-haired and raven-eyed like so many others are, but his temper is fiery and explosive –completely at odds with the Rain nature he would eventually awaken in the future, should he choose to step into the darker half of the world in wake of his father's footsteps.)

" _Get out,"_ he grits through his teeth. "Don't think I won't hit you just because you're a girl."

… The name, perhaps? Directly asking for his father by the man's work name? Is that really something to get so worked up over, though? I'm pretty positive that Kensuke would've already have encountered several others before asking for his father directly by that name before at this point. And the wording I used while asking wasn't _that_ impolite, was it? … Maybe it was because he felt like being brushed aside so easily was a slight to his person?

How rude.

"Truly, I am terrified," I deadpan, and the expression on his face darkens. "I am only here to pick up a package. Masao should've received it yesterday."

"… I don't know what you mean."

I notice it when his arm tenses, and promptly whip out a hand in the blink of an eye to catch the door and prevent it from closing before he slams it shut directly in front of my face. Again: _rude._ Shutting me out so blatantly? Unusual behavior, even for someone of Kensuke's temper.

"No, I think you _do_ know, Mochida Kensuke," I say slowly, idly cataloging his reactions. The way his eyes dart left for a moment, how his breath catches, the moment his right foot shifts back ever so slightly. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Even though you obviously aren't fully aware of the details, you _are_ aware of the side business that Masao runs, don't you?"

The boy stills.

"Let me see Masao."

"… No." His knuckles whiten, and I can _feel_ the sudden increase in force that he uses in trying to force the door to close on me. This is getting ridiculous. "I have no idea what you're talking about, lady. There's no Masao here. Get the hell away from my house!"

I make a light 'tsk'-ing sound with my tongue, finally beginning to lose my patience. "This isn't a request, boy. _Where is Masao?"_

Kensuke stumbles backwards, hard, when I finally shove open the door despite his attempts to keep me at bay –being overpowered by brute force is never a pleasant experience– and even though anger is still clearly at the forefront of his defiant expression, there is also a trace of fear that begins to enter his eyes.

I sigh. The headache that I had felt building earlier this morning? _Definitely_ starting to return with a vengeance now.

"I'm not the villain here, I swear," I grumble under my breath. "I only arrived in town yesterday…"

It's obvious. It's _obvious,_ the twitch that Kensuke's hand makes for the set of swords adorned upon the walls now that he has found himself backed into the empty dojo room. Unlike the blades that Tsuyoshi possesses, these swords hung over the walls were for purely decorative purposes –beautiful to look at, but brittle and fragile.

"Don't bother. If you try to grab the swords and make trouble for me, I won't even try to settle things peacefully anymore." It's an outright lie, not that he knows. Kensuke _flinches,_ before his lips pull down into a grim frown and determination seeps into his form. It takes great effort on my part not to reach up and start rubbing my temples.

 _Why me?_

"Masao!" I bark out before I have to take anymore of this moron's idiotic attitude, raising my voice. "You've got a customer looking for order #26535 from China! Don't tell me that you're hiding in the back because you've lost it or something, because otherwise I'm going to make you pay for it through the nose!"

Kensuke stumbles. Clearly, he had been expecting me to leap at him and attack or something… did I just have an untrustworthy face or something?

…

… By the time a taller, older version of Kensuke arrives with a familiar black case in tow, I have just about given up all hope on seeing my luggage again. It would've thrown a wrench in my plans, not having proper weaponry on me, but it wasn't something entirely impossible to work around.

"You look like shit," I tell the man succinctly, easily taking the large case off of his hands and letting it dangle loosely at my side, blatantly ignoring the goldfish-gaping from Kensuke. And the words are true; the man was walking with a limp in his stride, and there was some rather spectacular swelling going on in his right eye. He looked like he had gotten into the wrong end on a fistfight and belonged lying on a sickbed, for a man renowned to be skilled in the way of the sword… well, at least this explained Kensuke's hostility. "I thought Namimori was supposed to be a peaceful place?"

Even despite all the injuries scattered over his body, Mochida Tatsuo, alias _Masao_ in the shipping business, gives a painful, sardonic laugh.

"If this place is peaceful, then what's someone like _you_ doing here?"

… Point.

It doesn't stop me from shaking my head ruefully. "Not for you, Masao… Y'know, if you can keep your head down until this blows over, then you won't be getting anything worse than that black eye of yours."

"You can't guarantee that," the man states gruffly, rolling his eyes. It doesn't escape my notice how he has maneuvered his body to casually cover his son from my line of sight. "Besides, it's a bit too late now, don't you think?"

"What are you talking about, Masao?" I laugh, and turn to leave. _"It's never too late for anything until you're dead."_

…

* * *

(It doesn't happen often, but it does on occasion. Running late for patrol, that is.

Contrary to popular belief, patrolling early in the morning is not exactly his favorite task. Kusakabe Tetsuya's checklist of things to-do stretch on a mile long each day, and even though patrolling daily is an integral part of that schedule, early morning patrols aren't an enjoyable task by any definition of the word. Although… for all the difficulty in rising early, alert and aware and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice, Kusakabe privately admits to himself that he _does_ enjoy the quiet of still streets before street vendors arrive and students begin heading to school. Before everything begins to become crowded and rushed, the very image of another busy day.

Unlike Hibari, Kusakabe doesn't have any real attachment to Namimori. It's just a city, in his books. But he _is_ loyal to Hibari, and for Hibari he will carry out any task that is asked of him, even if it's something as inane as patrolling a quiet city's streets.

Mornings tend to be peaceful, for the most part. It's only the late evenings and nighttime that truly see the majority of unsavory characters creeping out to do their dealings in street corners and alleyways. Like clockwork, Kusakabe sees windows beginning to open as light creeps out over the streets –six o'clock or so, if he has to hazard a guess. In one of the more popular bread shops on the plum tree southwest side-street, he sees smoke beginning to churn out into the cool air. The wispy-white smoke shifts and contorts into ribbons and clouds and the silhouette of a–

A–

…

… Kusakabe blinks. Twice. The silhouette of a… girl?

It's… it's a girl. Ebon strands of hair fall loosely over her shoulders, the exact same shade as Kobayashi Miyuki of Class 3-A and Fujimoto Kaoru of Class 5-C; them and a dozen others who are all the same. Her eyes are dark in color, the way the vast majority of people are, and her appearance is downright _normal_ –point is, on a busy street during a crowded day, Kusakabe knows for a fact that he wouldn't have glanced twice at her.

But this wasn't the bright afternoon of a crowded day on a busy street. It was the still morning, when the streets were still mostly-empty and people were only just beginning to open their windows and step out from behind their doors. And for all her normal, plain, unassuming appearance… he had a gut instinct that spoke otherwise, and it wasn't exactly something as inexplicable as _intuition._

That tall, black case at her side. Even for a large suitcase, it was _massive._ The case was nearly as long as she was tall, which made for a rather bizarre sight. What could she possibly be carrying in that suspicious suitcase? Proper protocol dictated that he should step in to stop and check–

 _It's nothing, just a large suitcase. Nothing unusual._

–Kusakabe blinks, shaking his head. Hard. The edge of blue-violet curling at the edge of his vision fades, and he refocuses his thoughts. What was it again…? Oh, right. The suitcase. Just a suitcase. A girl carrying a suitcase. But this early in the morning? Why would a young girl be out lugging something as large and heavy as that and so early, when there was no one around and–

 _Only a girl, carrying a suitcase. Probably returning from a long-time trip. Nothing to be concerned about._

… And it's been awhile since he's seen her. Hasn't he seen her somewhere before? Yes, he knows that she is a Namimori resident. The girl is a resident of Namimori. There is nothing strange about seeing her on the streets again, even though it's been awhile. But… but why does he feel as if there is something… _strange,_ almost, about the way that she–

 _There is nothing unusual about the girl and her suitcase. None at all._

…

By the time the girl reaches and passes him by in the middle of the street, Kusakabe can no longer recall what he is doing here anymore. What _is_ he doing here? His mind is blank, strangely blank. Save for the dull pounding at his temples, there is nothing else that he is truly aware of. But with a small start once he realizes that the girl is _right next to him,_ he realizes that he's a little embarrassed, because who wouldn't be, _staring_ at a girl for so long like this? It's frightfully impolite, _what would other people say if they knew_ – and for all his embarrassment Kusakabe ducks his head and is fully expecting her to pass by without a word, except–

Except that isn't what happens.

Three steps past his person, the girl pauses her stride and turns back towards him again.

"Excuse me, if you'll so pardon my saying, but…" Soft words, gentle voice. Soothing, almost, with an almost-hypnotic quality. She tilts her head to the side. "You don't look so well. Maybe you should take the day off and get some rest?"

Rest… yes, rest sounds good. Kusakabe nods automatically to her suggestion, rubbing his eyes to clear the dull blue-violet light coiled around the corner of his vision again. He's tired, isn't he? He needs some sleep. With all the extra activity going on in Namimori lately, maybe he's been working himself a bit too hard, if a simple passerby on the street would show concern for his wellbeing…

…

… the street is empty. Kusakabe is sleepy. He needs to rest. Someone suggested rest… empty street… _who had he been talking to again…?)_

* * *

.

…

.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Finally moving on with the plot now in the sixth chapter here. :)

Announcement: I… after much inner debate and general indecisiveness, I've decided to basically rework a gigantic portion of the story's plot. Again. Although, this is in regards to future chapters, so it's not really all that relevant right now. All I can promise is that the story is going to be very VERY AU.

(Haha, canon? What's that? Is it something edible? ;3)

The AU-ness isn't going to be too obvious or world-shattering right now, but it'll get really, really evident later on (picking up pretty fast after the Varia arc, if I'm planning this correctly). Hold onto your seats, my friend, because canon has just been tossed out the window for this story. xD

Tsubaki's narration might be a bit different from the usual, but I'm still trying to get back into the swing of writing here after being hit by so many things going on in RL. If there's anything too weird that you see, though, remember to leave a message so I can fix things haha.

Covered a section with Mochida today. Let me know if it seemed way too OC? Trying not to write Mochida as a complete asshole here, like he's actually learned something from that traumatizing incident with Tsuna at school. The incident with his dad should come up again later too, I think. Poor Kusakabe at the end, though… all he's doing is patrolling like Hibari told him to. xD

Also, also. Who's looking forward to an appearance from Hibari in the next chapter? :3

* * *

 **QUESTION:** What's your opinion on Zhan so far? Even though he's only had… two appearances so far, and both in the form of phone calls. Whoopsies. xD He'll get some actual screen-time… eventually…

* * *

Please leave a review with your thoughts on this chapter or on mistakes you see in the text here~

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


	7. 1: 07 Your Warmth, My Poison

Title: Onwards Till Dawn

Rating: T

Summary: Turning back the clock means having the chance to fight for a better future. But imagine countlessly repeating the past, over and over and over again, and… ultimately, nothing ever changes at all. Except _–_ ("For you I will die, as many times as it takes.") [OC, AU]

Warnings: Minor language, violence. Angst. A wild Hibari appears… Does anyone even bother reading what's up here? No, I didn't think so either…

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR.

AN at the bottom.

* * *

.

* * *

Of all things that I had placed into consideration when I first stepped out the door this morning, running into Kusakabe while making my way back from the Mochida dojo had not been one of them. It was truly what one would call an unexpected encounter, though not one that caught me _entirely_ off guard. After all, I was very much aware of the Disciplinary Committee's activities in patrolling the streets of Namimori, so I was well aware that I would probably run into one of them at some point, even if not necessarily on the first day.

… Well, my luck certainly proved itself just now. Running into one Kusakabe Tetsuya in the morning next to that nice bread shop in the south-west… I can only console myself with the fact that at least it wasn't _Kyouya._ It would've been a lot harder to convince him to ignore me; Kyouya's instincts had always been top-notch, and my control over the Mist wasn't _quite_ good enough for the deeper, detailed work that Mists tended to be renowned for.

It was always more difficult to properly utilize one's secondary flame nature to the degree of the first; practiced as I was in the art of controlling flames, some things remained beyond my grasp even now.

… I still felt slightly guilty about the headache that Tetsuya would undoubtedly have once he woke up from his little 'nap' later. At least it was for a good cause? I hadn't been entirely lying back there about suggesting to him that he should go take a rest –Tetsuya really _was_ looking a little tired over there on his morning patrol.

(Most likely because of the spike in Vongola activities. _Tsuna._ Yes, things would definitely, most definitely be picking up soon; this is only the tenuous, glass-fragile calm before the imminent storm.

 _I can't wait.)_

"Acquiring equipment: Complete," I mutter to myself, setting down the tall, black case I'd picked up from the Mochida dojo right in the very center of the apartment I was currently staying in. I'd come fully prepared to solo-field a mini-warzone; even though I highly doubted that the situation would deteriorate to that point, I wasn't taking any chances.

For the moment, though, small knives and some metal wire hidden on my person would be enough. I add a small handgun to my waist right underneath my jacket as part of the ensemble on an afterthought, before reaching for the essential weapon that had cost me a small fortune to get my hands on. Not because the weapon itself was designed specially or anything –it was only a sword, a _katana._ Admittedly, I had commissioned for it to be double-edged rather than the usual single, but that would be the only unique point to its design that separated it from any other katana of its kind. What truly marked it as special was the material that it had been forged from.

Now _that_ had been entirely too much trouble to get my hands on, that seldom-seen, flame-conductive ore that was appropriate for my flames. The smithy had required a pretty penny in the forging process as well, and although I hadn't quite been bankrupt by the end of it, my funds had run considerably lower than usual after that for quite awhile.

It was worth it, though.

(Well worth its weight in both blood and gold.)

I still remembered receiving it from the smithy, picking up the smooth black scabbard from rough, calloused hands and pulling out the glistening blade, a steel edge that almost glowed in the fire-light of the forge. The smithy himself had deemed it one of his better works, and asked me what I intended to name it. That was where we had ran into a small spot of disagreement, though.

" _Eh? Name? Why would I need to name it? It's just a sword."_

" _All great swords require a name, younglin'. It would be an insult to suggest otherwise."_

" _No… no, not an insult, I don't think. A sword is only meant to kill; nothing more, nothing less. What does a name have anything to do with killing? … I'm not a samurai."_

Even years later after that incident nowadays, if asked, the old smithy would grumble and _insist_ that this particular fire-eating blade's name was _Satsu,_ if only because "that damn owner is too fucking lazy to come up with a respectable name." It doesn't really matter either way to me, whether the blade in my hands is named or nameless –a named sword is just the same as a nameless one in my mind, for all the difference it makes in killing people.

There are no designs on the plain scabbard, black as night and easily secured to my side by blood-red strings tied around it. The blade itself, when unsheathed, appears to be every bit the image of a normal katana, save for its double-edged nature –slightly unusual, but nothing that has not occurred before.

The plainness of it is something that suits me perfectly fine. I am not bothered by it in the least. If anything, I think… I think I'd even prefer it this way, really.

My fingers tie a deft knot with the red strings, securing the sword to my side, and I stand up smoothly from where I am crouched on the floor of the empty room. I'm not good enough with manipulating my meager Mist flames to hide it entirely from view, but a light layer of misdirection to not take notice or mistake it for something else is something well within the range of my abilities.

… And that takes care of that, I suppose.

* * *

"I suppose you have a good reason for being late."

Scary, scary. Reborn's voice is perfectly laidback and normal; there is no threat of warning or intimidation whatsoever in these words –and that's precisely what makes it so scary, in my humble opinion. How terrifying.

"'Late?'" Outwardly, I only echo the hitman's words and laugh lightly as I step to a stop right beneath the wall upon which the pseudo-infant stands. "I didn't know I was expected any earlier than this. My apologies, then."

"You're a bodyguard now," Reborn gives me a sideways glance. "Not a freelancer carrying out an assignment to her own schedule. You would do well to remember that."

Not a suggestion, but an order. Already establishing the chain of command here, huh? … There is really no need for him to do so in such a roundabout way; it's not as if I intended to act against Tsuna. Perhaps it was only the murky freelancer background working against my favor in this case, but then, there wasn't very much I could do about that, other than prove myself through my actions.

That would take awhile.

"As you wish," I merely dip my head in a respectful gesture, and then the front gate opens.

 _Tsuna._

It's not just Tsuna stepping out from the house, though. He is flanked by Hayato and Takeshi again, just like last night –had the boys held a sleepover, then? It would certainly make sense, I suppose, if all of them are coming out together from the Sawada residence like this right now. Either that, or Hayato and Takeshi had arrived here earlier and stepped inside for a bit before coming out again to leave for school.

" _You!"_

I blink at the finger pointed straight at my nose.

(Very subtle, Hayato.)

"Good morning," I decide to ignore the rather rude pointing, instead sketching a small bow to the three of them. "It is good to see that you are all–"

" _Where the hell were you this morning?!"_

At this, I pause and frown lightly.

Reborn's reaction towards me being 'late' was understandable; as the highest-ranking Vongola representative here, Tsuna's tenuous situation as candidate aside, he had every right to dictate my movements in acting as a bodyguard for Tsuna to his liking. Not arriving early enough today –it was only a minor detail to pick on, and in all honesty I wasn't even truly _late_ like he implied. I had arrived at the time I knew Tsuna would leave for school so I could accompany them and officially begin my job. Reborn's reaction only gave me the message that he wanted me to arrive earlier than this, but Hayato's reaction… it was as if my presence had been _expected?_

How strange.

… Nothing about this had been specified during last night's conversation at all. I couldn't think of any sensible reason in which the boys would also be expecting me as Reborn seemingly-implied that he had, not unless they had been informed of such beforehand, which I very clearly _didn't do._

"I was not aware that my presence was expected earlier here," I say simply, instead of revealing any of my thoughts. "May I ask why you are under such an impression?"

Hayato narrows his eyes. "… Che, that's it? _That's_ your excuse? Don't think that you can pull things like this on us just because you're–"

"G-Gokudera!" Unexpectedly, Tsuna is the one who cuts in before Hayato manages to get out any more scathing words. There is still a hint of apprehension in his eyes when he looks over at me, but despite that there is also something firm and solid and looks a lot like steel-edged _resolve._

"Please don't get into a fight," Tsuna says, and although it's mostly spoken to the hotheaded Storm of this group, there is still a small portion of those words aimed towards me. I can _feel_ it. "Gokudera, I'm sure there's a good reason why Tsubaki didn't show up earlier, so let's at least hear her out, okay?"

Something seizes violently in the center of my chest at this, and it's all I can do to keep the blank expression on my face still and unchanging.

 _Tsuna…_

It's silly, I know. I'm overreacting. This is _nothing._ Tsuna is only being sensible here, trying to settle things down before any explosions are involved and things get destroyed. Again. But… from his point of view, I should still be an outsider at this point. For him to even be _willing_ to speak for me like this in front of his Guardian, even though it's over something so small and so normal, it… I… I can't, I'm not…

(It's silly. It's _stupid._ I _know_ 's really, _really_ nothing to become focused on or get worked up over.

… It doesn't stop me from feeling a sudden urge to cry.)

"Ts-Tsubaki." When Tsuna turns to me again, it's with a small stutter in his voice and a faint trace of nervousness. My eyes greedily drink in the image, and for a moment I am almost unable to hear his next words. "U-Um, Reborn told us yesterday that you'd be here early today to, uh, talk about the… specifics… of your, er, guarding schedule. Um. So…"

I smile. It seems to take him slightly off-guard, but it doesn't dim my expression in the least.

 _Tsuna._

"Noted, sir." Even though part of me is vaguely miffed that Reborn went ahead and arranged something like this without my knowledge –most likely just so he could arrange a confrontation of this sort to test our reactions, the bastard– another part of me is happy, _so very happy,_ because _Tsuna,_ Tsuna had spoken for me. Because even if it's just all one-sided wishful thinking on my part, reading too much into simple gestures, _Tsuna spoke out for me,_ and it makes me very, very happy.

A little sad, too, but mostly happy.

"From what I've gathered, it seems that I'm the only one who didn't receive the notice for such a meeting," I laugh and say. "If you must know, I was out making some personal preparations for this mission earlier. I had originally planned to discuss the topic of working out a schedule once your school day ended."

"Oh… I see."

Judging from Hayato's dubious look, it doesn't seem like he buys into the explanation I give at all. Inconvenient, but surely perfectly explainable when we sit down to talk about it later. Takeshi had been smiling to the side from beginning to end throughout the conversation –now, reading minds was impossible for something like me, but I had the distinct impression that he didn't care very much about whether I was lying or telling the truth.

No matter.

"Shall we leave and save this topic for later, then?" I gesture to the road. "You'll be late in… ten minutes or so, I believe."

Tsuna freezes.

" _Ohmygodwe'regonnabelateHIBARI–"_

I will only say this: When properly motivated, even at an age where he is practically still a regular civilian, Tsuna can run very, _very_ fast. Hayato and Takeshi promptly take off after him down the street, and I leisurely follow n their footsteps–Reborn leaps down to my shoulder as I cross underneath him, which is… not something entirely unexpected, if I am to be honest with myself.

We travel together in silence for a moment, listening to the panicked shouts and bright laughter of the boys in front of us.

"You're not going to ask me why?"

 _You're not going to ask me why I tricked the boys into thinking that you'd come early today to speak with them before school?_

"No," I respond simply. Act natural, act natural. A regular assassin would be mildly peeved or displeased at being set up like this, but just thinking of the way Tsuna had reached out and reigned in his Storm _for me_ … there was no way I could keep up a mask like that.

"It's none of my business, what you were aiming to accomplish back there," I smile breezily. "I'm only here as a bodyguard, aren't I? Ensuring Sawada's safety is the only task I need to focus on."

Reborn makes a noncommittal hum to this in the back of his throat. "That's a pitiful way to look at things, and very short-sighted. How are you still alive?"

The words are as casual in voice as they are callous nature, ruthlessly so for all the sedate calm that they are stated in. It almost makes me want to laugh aloud into the open air again.

"I'm a rather pitiful excuse for a human being," I settle for agreeing wryly. "And staying alive isn't exactly something I go out of my way to do. It just kind of happens."

Another slight pause.

"… You're a strange one."

I don't reply to that. Instead, I opt for quickening my footsteps to catch up to the boys, who have just rounded the corner in front of me. The distance between us is a respectful distance that acknowledges privacy, but not so far a distance as to imply negligence on my part.

It's a careful balance to maintain here.

* * *

When the familiar school gates of Namimori finally come into sight, I am struck by a heavy sense of nostalgia. Once upon a time, I myself had been a student here in its halls as well, standing right next to Tsuna and laughing cheerfully as we stepped through the brightly-lit corridors together, hand in hand. How long ago had it been, those blue-sky, white-cloud days of idealistic innocence that would never return again?

… Far too long, it seems. Nowadays, I can only remember with clear-minded clarity my path of blood.

 _Blood._

(It is my only warning.)

Bloodlust is not something new to Namimori. As peaceful as the town is on the surface, there is a perfectly valid _reason_ why Kyouya's Disciplinary Committee utilizes the methods it does to keep order on the streets, and it's not just because of some hot-blooded, violent tendencies on his part. For all that there is a good portion of the population in Namimori haplessly ignorant to the low-current of these underground activities, that does not mean they do not exist.

After all, ignorance does not change reality.

… All things considered, though, it's probably just another test from Reborn. The hitman is more than skilled enough to keep all undesirable elements far, far away from Tsuna if he desires to do so. To let a fish slip through the net, right when I am 'coincidentally' present for guard duty as per my job on the very first day…

A warning in addition to an assessment, then. 'Even if this mission is mostly just a political move, hiring you here to guard Tsuna, that does not mean you can lower your guard and do a half-assed job of staying alert.'

How wonderful.

I can _see_ it, the way Tsuna lurches back in surprise when he sees someone leaping out at him with a knife in hand right in the middle of the streets in front of the school gates. Clearly, the assassin had been hoping to finish things in a single blow and let the panic and chaos of distraught schoolchildren cover his escape. Hayato dashes forward, already reaching for the explosives that are ever-present on his person, and it is evident in every line of his body that he is perfectly willing to use his own body as a shield to cover for Tsuna if necessary. Takeshi, even though there is no sword in his hands, moves forward as well, no trace of fear anywhere as he steps and–

And I smile brightly as I look straight into the eyes of a dead man.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you?" I ask rhetorically, before stepping back and watching the bulky figure stumble like an elephant and crumple to the ground with a heavy _thud._ There's really no way that this man doesn't know that he'd only been let through Reborn's net on purpose; why would he run headlong into what he knows to be an obvious trap, then?

Idiot.

 _Ah… but that's a lie, isn't it? You're not dead because you're an idiot, my friend. An assassin should never fear taking risks, under the condition that they should refrain from acts of stupidity. What you did was very stupid, but, m'dear, you are dead not because you're an idiot, but because it's_ Tsuna _who you've dared to attack here._

 _You just tried to kill Tsuna. What reason is there for you to continue living, then?_

 _(You're very, very lucky that Tsuna doesn't like blood. Otherwise, your death would've been much more painful, as you rightfully deserve.)_

There's no blood. A tap on the forehead, and the man falls. What no one sees is the discreet channeling of flames through my hand with the full intent of _destroy destroy destroy,_ and the man dies a bloodless death. At a glance, it even looks like he has only fallen unconscious.

… Which is perfectly fine, in my books. Tsuna is watching, after all, and I know that Tsuna has never been fond of blood.

"W-What just–"

"Assassination attempt," I dust off my hands. It's hard to keep up the usual serious mien of a professional countenance when I'm in such a good mood. "Looks like you're a popular man, sir."

Tsuna's jaw drops as he openly gapes at me. Very cute, and I feel the urge to smile and laugh again–

Not that I have the time to enjoy it, though. In fact, now that I think about it, he might've been gaping at me for an entirely different reason…

I barely have time to raise my arm in a defensive block before a steel tonfa crashes into it, and I am bodily launched across the street. The startled shouts I hear in my wake aren't all from the boys; other Namimori students seem to be becoming aware of some sort of situation taking place in front of the school gates as well. Sheesh. Didn't anyone ever teach these children that gawking at a dangerous spectacle involving violence could end very badly for all parties involved, even the harmless, sightseeing ones?

 _"Violators of Namimori's discipline will be properly punished."_

Ahh, Kyouya. Dear, dear Kyouya. _Dearest_ Kyouya. I should've _known_ that Reborn had intended to arrange something like this from the very beginning; why else would that assassin have chosen the school gates of all places to lay his ambush, when there are so many better spots along the route Tsuna takes to school? Of course _he_ would take offense at such things taking place so close to school grounds, and if his interest happened to be piqued by what he saw, then that was probably exactly just what Reborn desired.

Dark hair, dark eyes, agile body settled into a fighting stance and completely focused on the target. _This_ is the Kyouya that I know best. Hm. If it's a show that Reborn wants here, then I suppose…

(They say that physical exercise is a good way of working off stress, too. So, why not? I'm feeling very happy today.)

"What discipline?" I grin lazily, straightening to my full height as I neatly roll to my feet. "If Namimori's as _disciplined_ as you seem to imply it is, then what was up with that assassin just now, hm?"

An outright _challenge._ After this, there will be no other way that this encounter can end, and I welcome it.

"Tch," Hibari Kyouya clicks his tongue and raises his tonfas. _"I'll bite you to death."_

* * *

(Sawada Tsunayoshi experiences the urge to tear out his hair. Again. Unfortunately, he has been feeling that a lot these days. Is this what they mean by going bald from stress?

 _This can't be happening._

Assassination attempt… it would be terribly inaccurate to say that this was the first assassination attempt on his life that he'd experienced, but so close to school where there were so many people and right in broad daylight? _Definitely_ a first for him. He'd panicked a little at first, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle; Gokudera and Yamamoto had been right beside him as well, so there was no way that they wouldn't be able to hold off the assassin together, but–

But apparently, that had been entirely unnecessary.

The assassin-bodyguard girl had appeared in front of them in the blink of an eye, and punched the man in the head. The forehead was supposed to be _hard,_ not exactly the easiest target to take down an enemy in one blow, but the man had stumbled and folded like a cheap deck of cards after a single punch.

… That wasn't exactly what he was fixated on here, though. It wasn't her act of taking out the burly assassin that was making him stare at the sight in front of him.

 _The insane girl was going toe-to-toe with_ Hibari _right in front of the school gates this very moment, someone pinch him and let him wake up, please._

Hibari Kyouya had always been associated with _invincibility_ and _strength_ in his mind. It had always been like that; no one in Namimori challenged Hibari's authority and lived to tell the tale. There were _rumors_ about the sort of thing Hibari and his Disciplinary Committee got up to on the streets, and Tsuna might be a bit slow on the uptake at times and a little oblivious, but he's not _dumb._

 _She's going to die,_ Tsuna thinks, and an abrupt spike of worry enters his chest. _Hibari is going to kill her for all the property damage in front of Namimori, and then he's going to turn around and kill_ me, _and we're all going to die!_

… Right, he's exaggerating a little here, but the point still stands. The duo's battle is starting to attract a crowd now, but instead of growing annoyed and scattering the crowd as per usual, there is a _gleam_ in Hibari's eyes that shows he is wholly and entirely focused on the fight and nothing else. Battle-lust. Tsuna has heard Reborn mention it in passing before, but had never experienced anything like it for himself, so he's not really in any position to talk about it. Still, he thinks that it must be something very intense, because crowd-hating Hibari isn't doing anything about the gathering crowd, and…

… And they're all going to get bitten to death today, aren't they?

Tsuna regrets getting out of bed this morning. Better to be electrocuted by Reborn than deal with something like _this._

… Although, admittedly… there's something almost strange about what's happening right now. The girl, Tsubaki –when she'd came and introduced herself last night, the impression that Tsuna received of her was of someone quiet, calm, polite. Reserved both in actions and words, disinterested in many things around her for the most part. Definitely not the one to go around getting into fights like this. And he'd thought it was only his imagination that the girl seemed to be in a fairly good mood this morning for some obscure reason, but the side of her he was seeing in battle right now?

She was _smiling._

No, not just smiling. More than that. _She's_ … _she's just like Hibari, isn't she?_

 _Assassin._ Someone who lives to kill and kills to live. Tsuna can't imagine a life like that, but he knows that Gokudera understands something of it, which might explain the Storm's slight hostility towards the girl and her attitude. Even though he can't imagine something like that, though, he can take a guess, and it must be _harsh_ and _difficult,_ and… and he feels for her, in a way.

(Reborn would call him a bleeding heart again; it's called _compassion,_ and there's nothing wrong with that.)

Intuition is very hard to explain, but so far his intuition has never led him wrong, and something about it this time insists that the assassin, Tsubaki, isn't someone for Tsuna to avoid and hold at arm's length. It's all very confusing.

"Well, Tsuna?" The brunet jolts and lets out a small yelp when he hears his tutor's voice _right next to his head._ When did Reborn get here?! And why isn't he stopping the two from fighting if he's already here? "Get on with it already. One of them is your guardian, and the other is your bodyguard. A proper boss should always be able to reign in his underlings."

And then there is a small hand on his back that _shoves,_ with a forceful sort of strength that literally _propels_ him through the air, and oh gods he is _headed straight at the fight between prefect and assassin_ and–

 _Oh my god,_ is all he has time to think. _Th-There's no way this is going to end well._

 _Stupid Reborn.)_

* * *

.

…

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* * *

Author's Notes:

Seventh chapter complete. Much faster update this time, haha. (Throws confetti)

So! Moving along some more with the plot, now, more so than the last chapter which was basically just a phone call and swinging by the Mochida dojo. Squalo should probably be crashing Namimori pretty soon, but don't quote me on this… xD In all honesty, I don't intend to drag things out too much. I really want to get to the action, too! Lots of fun stuff to write about there, and summer break is more than halfway over for me now. Really didn't get to finish as much writing as I would've liked, but I've been pretty productive with other stuff in RL, so I guess those are some bonus points right there.

… Hibari makes an entrance in this chapter! I originally planned to fit in the entire scene in this chapter, but I guess we're going to have to move it to the next chapter instead. Um. At least that's something to look forward to in the next update, huh?

On the note of the old smithy calling Tsubaki's sword 'Satsu,' it's just because she refused to give the sword a name. 'Satsu' is actually just '殺', meaning 'to kill,' and it's kind of just a stubborn, spiteful thing there because technically the blade is still nameless. Tsubaki's attitude towards her sword there is a part I added in as I wrote about her ensemble of weaponry because I felt it reflected a little something about her character. ;D

Showed another side of Tsubaki in the story today. She gets a lot more careless with her behavior when she's around Tsuna, doesn't she? xD

As always, if you spot any errors/mistakes in the text, please let me know so I can fix things up. Your help is much appreciated!

On an entirely unrelated note to OTD: I've been thinking of starting a **multiverse-OC story,** and I already have several ideas for what's going to happen in it. There are still some things that I'm debating about, though, and one of them includes picking between some fandoms that I haven't quite made up my mind whether or not to write about –so there's a **poll** going up on my profile.

 **Please head over to my profile and vote** to help me decide on which other fandoms to include in the fic, if that's something you're interested in as well. :3

Alternatively, you could also submit suggestions for fandoms you'd like to see either via **review** or **PM** if you don't see it on the poll options. :)

* * *

 **QUESTION:** I expect to start getting into the Ring battles pretty soon. So, just kind of gauging reactions around here –what do you guys think about Tsubaki taking on a slightly mentor-ish role again like she did in the original OTD versus staying strictly only as Tsuna's bodyguard here?

* * *

 **More updates today!** Maybe then (Male!OC, Uzumaki!OC, AU Naruto fic) has been updated, and I've also posted a new story: _Paper Plane Parade,_ featuring a **male!OC** in a **grave-robbing!AU** - **KHR-verse**. Remember that thing I rambled on about awhile ago about trying to write a new character in the AN? … Yeah, this is the result of that rambling. Check it out, please! I'm really excited for it. :D

Till next time,

XxZuiliu


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